Love Works in Weird Ways
by FluffleNeCharka
Summary: Every chapter is a different couple requested by a reader. All requests will be done, with the exception of inanimate objects or animals x a person. Het, yaoi, and yuri inside. Today's couples: EdgarMilla, MatadorKitty, RazElton and BobbyLaboto.
1. SashaMilla

Author's Notes: Yep, a series of romantic, quickie oneshot/drabbles. That's an original idea… Heh. Anyway, this is Sasha/Milla. This takes place during the time his brain is missing.

This fic will be built on requests! If you have a weird couple, or any couple at all whom you've always wanted to see a fic for, review with a request or PM me and I shall write it as soon as possible! Even slash and yuri couple are accepted, for I am bored.

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Sasha took a deep breath.

The cube was a little bit off, now that he didn't have an astral projection. It felt horribly wrong to be looking at it from above; being unable to move anything or do anything but look. He couldn't even breathe properly. His cube, his secure little sanction, was quiet as ever. It floated like a planet, he thought miserably, a planet from which he was now banned.

But it was still his.

So far, he had been able to access only parts of his cube. When one had no astral projection, things were harder. It was his own mind, though, so he had to find out if it was in working order. The basic Shooting Gallery worked perfectly. Deeper parts of his mind were locked up for now. After a while, he gave up trying to open them. Which, sadly, left him with nothing to do but sit and try to maintain some brain activity.

He tried not to think about his body, lying unconscious or worse, somewhere unknown…

Sasha had already had the initial surge of panic, his claustrophobia rushing up to meet him in new ways as he screamed. But even screaming was mental, not physical. After a while he'd realized that his body was immobile. There was nothing to be done about that; so he went into his mental world.

A new wave of horror greeted him – he didn't have an astral projection anymore. All he was, was a voice. And he could move a few things if he strained himself. That was it. Oh, how he longed to have Agent Vodello here. She would have found a bright side, or a solution, or something. If there was any good to being a voice in his own mind with no power, Agent Vodello would pinpoint it.

Sasha took another deep breath. It was peaceful here, quiet.

And in the quiet, one thought rang through his mind: Was Milla okay? Whatever had gotten him could have gotten her. She was always by his side… They were two halves of a whole. He was typically the one who took the offensive. So if he was gone, then her chances of being in this situation were high. He couldn't even do the math. He was just terrified.

At first, when he met her, she'd been a bit too much. Too loud, and too happy for him. He felt as though he'd been paired with a shallow freak of nature. But as days turned into weeks and weeks became monthes, he began to appreciate her light heartedness. Her smile brightened him after a long mission. Her hug made him dizzy. Back then, he'd made excuses. Her smile was simply illuminated by the light because of the angle she'd had her face turned. Her hug would knock the breath out of anyone.

But in the quiet of his mind, every thought was unavoidably loud and clear.

He loved her.


	2. LiliRaz

Raz was the only one who wanted to be a Psychonaut.

The rest of the children just wanted to blow stuff up. They liked the idea of burning things and lifting them into the air. Lili scoffed at them. They didn't understand the potential of their own minds. No wonder the world didn't care about Psychonauts like they used to – looking at these idiots, it was a miracle the Psychonauts hadn't disbanded. Nils was a psychic peeping tom, Kitty wanted to braid everything, and Elton talked to fish.

This was the future?

Raz had arrived with all the fresh ideals a Psychonaut should have had. He wanted to do good. Not to set things on fire pointlessly (even though he did that anyway) or to blow up heads. Raz wanted to be a Psychonaut. Lili was impressed. He wanted to be a psychic soldier. Even telling him it was pointless didn't distract him. He blew her off when she said the world didn't need Psychonauts.

She smirked. Finally, someone who held their ground.

Raz did more than that, though. He would become a Psychonaut, come hell and high water. Lili had never seen someone work so hard to level up in her entire life. Even the part of her that thought it was pointless was impressed. Who else would walk on ropes and climb trees for their life dream? Scratch that, how many people would fight bears for their life dream at age ten?

No one, not anymore. People wanted their life dreams to come to them. They refused to work for it anymore. Everyone wanted dream jobs with no effort, no sweat, and no pain. It was all good if they didn't have to try.

For Razputin, he'd be suspicious if it came without work, effort, sweat, and pain.

Lili watched him a couple times, climbing trees and fighting bears for his job. There was a drive there Elton and Bobby didn't have. No one in the whole camp did except Raz, and obviously herself. It was that longing for something even when it seemed impossible. Even though the world would tell her that it was impossible for him to be a Psychonaut at age ten, she knows he will. He's got a desire to keep going that can't be shaken even when reality sets in.

Her light brown eyes follow him as he jumps from a tree to a rock face, scrambling all the while.

She knows what his desire is like. It's the same feeling she has towards him.


	3. MikhailMaloof

Author's Notes: Madz is my only reviewer! (sob) Well, here you go. You requested Mikhail/Maloof, you have now received Mikhail/Maloof.

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Maloof hugged Mikhail, causing the tall boy to blink.

"Not bad bear hug, for one so small," he said, gently detaching his friend from his waist. "Spend all year working on it for this summer?"

Maloof blushed and looked at the ground, immaturely cute as always. "Um, no. I just missed you."

Mikhail looked his friend up and down, drinking in the sight of his best friend: the orange brown hair, and tanned gold skin, and the shy, beady eyes. He couldn't stop staring. Maybe it was the light. Maybe it was the lack of bears. But Maloof seemed… different, somehow. More beautiful. Delicate, and there was a way the light was framing his body… Mikhail froze mid thought. Oh, no. He did not just think that. He did not just think his boss was cute! Ew!

Realizing Maloof was staring at him, he slid his hand into his friends and clasped it. Pulling him towards the main cabin, Mikhail said, "So, seen any bears? Has bully with bad teeth been bothering you? Tell me all of it! Especially part with bear."

Maloof grinned, glad to have his friend back, and leaned his head on Mikhail's shoulder. "Benny hasn't done anything to me yet. But Bobby stole Quentin's hot cocoa and dumped it in my lap."

The Russian boy's face darkened, and Maloof felt his heart flutter in a cliché way. Mikhail was so strong and tough on the outside, but secretly he was compassionate. He'd take care of Bobby, pay or no pay. Maloof liked that about him. He had spent a whole school year away from Whispering Rock, dreaming of the hat Mikhail wore and of bears with no hair. He'd grown accustomed, quickly, to having Mikhail guard him. Having him nearby was something it took minutes to get used to and monthes to forget. It was like he was missing a part of himself with Mikhail gone.

"Bully will be put in GPC!" Mikhail declared, pulling Maloof close so suddenly it knocked the breath out of him, "No one hurts my boyfriend!" Too late did he realize what he said.

The two froze.

Maloof stared. Mikhail loved him. Mikhail, who was tough and foreign and hot, loved him. He felt like he was flying. It was so obvious they went well together! Why didn't he figure out it was love before? Maybe they were just too young. Maybe it was because Maloof had been so shy around him. Really, right now Maloof Canola could care less. He was in love.

Mikhail was mentally hitting himself on the head. Why did he say that? Now Maloof knew he was gay and in love with him. Things could go two ways from this moment: Maloof could hate him or love him back. Mikhail braced himself for that first option, and then took a deep breath. If he had already said it, he may as well do what he always wanted to. Gathering his courage, he moved forward…

The Russian boy kissed Maloof, making him blush frantically. Wow. His first kiss! Their first kiss! Maloof squeaked and hugged his new boyfriend once more. Mikhail gave a rare grin and held him tight, the fresh summer air accenting how awesome the moment was. Maloof didn't hate him! Maloof loved him back! It was a picture perfect moment. They were lost in their own minds, in each other's arms, and in the cliché coolness of it all.

"This is almost as good as wrestling with bear," Mikhail whispered, and Maloof knew that was as close to a 'I-love-you' as he was going to get.


	4. QuentinPhoebe

Author's Notes: Well, no one cares, but here it is anyway. The first QuentinPhoebe. Enjoy.

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It hurts her to watch him fall in love.

Phoebe knows Kitty won't ever love him back. Kitty isn't capable of loving anyone but herself. Kitty wants a rich boy who has everything right in the bank. And Phoebe has to curve the impulse to set her on fire. Quentin would be there for her in ways she can't imagine with her perfectly groomed brain. In that magenta haired head of hers, the only thing she imagines is how little money Quentin will make.

It hurts to watch him sometimes, being shot down continually, annually, and repeatedly. Quentin won't give it up, ever. If Kitty would just say directly that she doesn't like him, Phoebe knows he'll leave. It may hurt him, but he'll do it. The problem was that Kitty was never direct with boys. She threw random hints and hoped they caught them. And twelve year olds rarely caught those kind of things.

Phoebe wishes he would stop loving her. He doesn't have a chance. Then again, maybe he did. With Quentin, impossible was just another word he didn't like. But how many times will he have to cry and spend the whole night writing her song before he gives it up? She wonders. She waits. Phoebe mends the holes in his heart as best she can; encourages him even though Kitty's a whore. If Quentin loved her, then she'd tell him to go for it, no matter how bad it hurt. One day, he'd figure it out on his own.

Years passed.

Kitty manipulated him. Toyed with his heart, loving him one minute and hating him the next. He fell for it, every time. He wanted it to be real. Phoebe hated her; wanted to hunt her down. But now, the pyromaniac knows, it wouldn't be long. Quentin wasn't stupid, just lovestruck. Eventually he'd realize it on his own, realize what he wouldn't listen to was true advice.

The day comes. She opens the door around Christmas to find him near tears, shaking in rage and sorrow and heartbreak. Whoever said men couldn't be romantic didn't know him. He looks like a fifthteen year old wreck, blue eyes sad and face downfallen. Phoebe pulls him inside. He's been here so many times before, they've played so many songs in her living room. The familiarity of it washes over her. It's all a routine, now. She knows as she takes his coat from him and scolds him lightly for leaving snow on the carpet that his pain is dulled just by here. He takes comfort in her home, where everything is warm and musical.

"We're buds, right Quentin?" she questions as she hands him hot cocoa. It does her good to see him relaxed a little. The orange headed boy nods. "Then tell me, why'd it take you so long to figure out Kitty didn't love you?"

He paused, "It's not _that_ I'm upset about, bro." For a long moment, he stares into his cocoa like it's all that exists. He glances up. Phoebe's there, even though it hurts her to see him like this, she's still there. "I figured out who I really love, and the bummer is I think it might be too late."

Ready to support him until the end, Phoebe asks, "Who?" He smiles, knowing no matter what the answer, she'll back him up. Knowing that she's doing mental somersaults because he's smiling at all.

"You."


	5. FrankeKitty

Author's Notes: KarAniyuki, forgive me. I've never written Kitty/Franke before, and so this is kind of short. But I really tried!

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"Loser!"

"Weirdo!"

"Freak!"

Franke giggled. She and Kitty were insulting people, as usual, by the lake. The fact that twenty kids and half the seagulls were glaring at them didn't matter. Kids were throwing them dirty looks and running away from them, but that was okay. Franke knew that they were just jealous of her, anyway. Jealous because she was pretty and smart and had nice hair. Kitty had told her that. So it was okay.

Now that the beach was cleared (just like it should be, for them, Kitty might add) the two girls spread their beach towels and set up umbrellas. They had Kitty's dad buy them those little umbrellas to put in their drinks, and they grinned. This was so high-society! Raz stared, raising an eyebrow as he rolled by, and Lili stifled a laugh. They didn't care. These simpletons were beneath them. These pathetic little losers could never understand what their lives were like. Only they understood. Only Kitty and Franke were cool enough to do so.

The sun blazed down on them. Kitty glanced at her protégé/suck up/best friend. And turned away just as quickly, blushing furiously. Why was Franke so cute today? Then she smiled. 'Must be all the lessons I gave her, finally paying off!' she thought, and tried to put the matter out of her mind. Yet she couldn't. Franke looked so serene, dozing off and curled up. Kitty stared. No one had ever looked so sweet and innocent. She was aware she was blushing ten shades of red by now, and that if she kept blushing her face would match her hair, but she couldn't break her gaze from her friend's face, so smooth and pink and shaped by her soft, orange hair. Kitty felt nervous. How deep of a sleeper was Franke? This staring would wake her up soon, at this rate. And Kitty knew that it wasn't okay for her to looking at another girl like this.

Franke stirred, then stretched and yawned. Kitty tore her gaze away, trying to think of an excuse for why she was blushing. Franke's golden eyes smiled at her, though, and Kitty lost all control. She stared. How could anyone look so warm, sweet, and utterly cute? So carefree? It was impossible.

"Oh my gosh!" Franke said, her voice full of concern, "Are you getting a sunburn? We totally have to go inside, now!"

Kitty wanted to say no, but her mind was shutting down. Cute, smiling Franke wanted to spend time with her. Alone. And she was holding her hand. Kitty could have swooned. When did Franke get so much more confident? 'Must be hanging out with me,' Kitty decided as they entered the Main Lodge, heading up to the TV room. The air conditioning made them feel frozen in less then ten seconds, but it was okay with Kitty. It usually wouldn't have been. But Franke was here. And Franke was her best friend.

So that made it okay.


	6. BennyMilka

"Ouch!" Benny flinched as he walked. "Stupid Mikhail and his stupid half-deadly whatever. Stupid…"

Grumbling and shuffling along the path to the Main Lodge, Benny didn't pay attention to anything… and promptly tripped over something invisible. He swore and turned around, ready to kill whoever dared trip him when he was already injured. Then he froze.

"Milka, right?"

The sobbing girl nodded once and started to go invisible, but he placed a hand on her shoulder to stop her. Her big eyes were filled with tears, and her face was cut on the side. He panicked, then got angry. Whoever hurt her would pay. Who picked on Milka? Even Bobby didn't do that. There were limits!

"What's wrong?" he said, hoping it wasn't Bobby. If was anyone else, he could do something. But if it was Bobby… He couldn't do anything.

"Kitty pushed me down the stairs," Milka explained, but then added, "It's okay, though. It doesn't hurt. Please don't worry about me. Please?" She smiled weakly, trying to ignore the obvious pain she was in.

Benny sighed. He knew that look. Bobby did his share of bullying, with Benny tagging along. And there was a look heavily bullied people got. The look of fear, combined with fear someone would do something. That hopeless despair Benny thought was way too deep for kids. He looked at the ground. What to do now? He knew how Milka was feeling, but he couldn't stand to see her bravely smiling through her tears, like an angel. He couldn't stand it, for some reason. Anyone else, and he'd be laughing. But her? It shouldn't happen.

So he hugged her.

He didn't really know how to hug, and she was shy, so it was awkward. He stroked her hair, thinking about the stuff his mom did to get him to calm down. He groaned silently. Please, he prayed, don't let anyone see me like this. No doubt they'd never stop laughing if they knew. Milka smiled at him. He forgot what he was thinking.

He paused, "Um, you know, I uh…" he trailed off, then took a deep breath. "I really love you a lot you're awesome and I like how nice you are and your smile and will you go out with me?"

Milka smiled, a genuine one this time. It seemed like she was twenty times prettier when she smiled. The big-eared one felt his heart flutter. "Oh. Sure. Is it okay if I'm invisible?"

Benny grinned, unable to believe his luck, and took her hand. It was weird for someone to be so shy, but whatever. It was part of her cuteness. Angels were supposed to be fleeting, anyway.

"If it's okay by you, it's okay by me."


	7. BobbyChloe

Author's Notes: Ah, my kind of romance – an epileptic seizure, tears, and exceptance.

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"Chloe?"

An exasperated sigh came from the helmeted girl beside him. Her hands were a blur over the keyboard of her laptop, eyes focused on the computer screen. He didn't know what she was doing. Bobby didn't want to know, really. With Chloe, sometimes it was better not to ask any questions. But when she'd told him she needed him for an experiment, he got nervous.

"Yes, Bobby?" her voice was awesome music to his ears. But also, scary music to his ears. The element of danger was yet another reason to think she was cool.

"Is this gonna, I dunno, hurt or somethin'?"

"Possibly," she replied. "It depends." She handed him a small box, containing two contact lenses. "Put these in. Quickly."

If anyone else had said that to Bobby, he'd have punched them or refused outright. But he trusted Chloe. Maybe it wasn't the smartest thing he'd ever done, yet he couldn't find it in his heart to refuse her anything. No one in his whole life had been so interested in him – in who he was, not just what a bully he was. His parents hated him. Bobby knew he'd been sent to camp just to get rid of him for a couple weeks. When Chloe talked to him, he felt… well, wanted.

Chloe had never met anyone who believed, truly and deeply, that she was an alien. Bobby knew she was telling the truth. He didn't doubt her even for a second. He didn't make fun of her for being extraterrestrial. He cheered her on, and told her she was too awesome to be human. It was enough to make her cry if she thought about it for long enough. Bobby was perfect for her. Perfect _to_ her.

"Focus on the screen," she told him, looking stern. "Don't look away." He nodded.

A sequence of flashing lights hit his eyes. Red and blue, flashing twenty times per second. His eyes got wide and his fists clenched. She felt her heart skip a beat and moved to catch him just as his knees gave way and he collapsed. Sighing, she put the computer on standby and held him. Her hands stroked the fuzzy poof of his hair. Oh, Bobby. Sometimes she wished she had someone else to experiment on – it hurt her to see him like this. At the same time, it deeply touched her. Who else would do this for her? Even though he knew how wrong these things could go, he never even hesitated.

"Oh, Bobby," she whispered, a few tears slipping down her cheeks, "For an Earthling, you are amazing."


	8. SashaRaz

Author's Notes: The quality of my work is degrading. I'm staying up all night to write these next few chapters. It's already midnight. My head hurts. I have so many things to catch up on on here, it's not even funny. (I have like 4 fics I should be updating.) I feel so crappy…

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"SAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAASHA!"

The German Psychonaut blinked as a large, very shaky Razputin somehow fell from the sky, rolled down a hill, and landed in the river that ran by the GPC. There was a moment of silence before Raz grinned sheepishly and the older man shook his head. After six years, he still hadn't gotten used to Raz's zaniness. The crashing, the smashing, the setting things on fire – Sasha looked to the sky, seeking out smoke. There was none. Good. That meant Raz hadn't blown anything up.

"Agent Aquatto, as fabulous as look holding a fish, did you need a hand?" Sasha said, smiling when Raz looked down and screamed, throwing the fish in the air and blasting it.

"Sorry!" he yelled, accepting Sasha's hand and managing to stagger to his feet.

His goggles were at a weird angle, one green eye blinking out at the world, and his helmet had what appeared to be mustard on it. Sasha looked him up and down. Why was Razputin covered in mustard, on a Sunday, at Whispering Rock, a week before he was supposed to be there? After a moment, he decided he didn't want to know and led the drenched, mustard covered Psychonaut into his lab.

Sasha was very, very good at controlling his emotions. But Raz was very, very cute when he was drenched and pouting. Sasha's eyes flickered over Raz's form. Very cute, and kind of hot… Then it occurred to him that Raz was taken. And a minor. Sasha slapped himself mentally as he tried very, very hard not to look at Raz, who was now peeling off his ice cold clothes. It was illegal. It wasn't right. It was…

Too tempting.

Even though it went against everything he stood for, Sasha had to admit that Raz was gorgeous. That strangely appealing red-brown hair, those piercing green eyes – dammit, why did it have to be Raz?

"Because of my charming personality?" Raz joked, grinning at Sasha's stunned expression. "I can read minds now, remember?"

"Damm."

"Ah, c'mon!" Raz objected, throwing his arms in the air. "I'm not that bad!"

Sasha couldn't resist, "Yes. You are far worse."

"Hey! I love you! You're not supposed to say that to guys you love!"

"I just did."

Raz grinned like a maniac, "So you do love me! Awesome! Oh, I am just too good."

Sasha snorted, but pecked him on the cheek anyway. Raz squealed like the fanboy he always was, and life continued into its normal weirdness.


	9. BobbySasha

Author's Notes: Mine brain hurts. I don't want to write anymore…

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Bobby knew it was just wishful thinking.

It was so stupid. So utterly pathetic. He felt like punching himself. Out of all the people on Earth, Sasha Nein was probably the one furthest out of his reach. He may as well have wished for the moon. But the stupidity of it didn't stop his heart from aching.

Bobby didn't consider himself the heart-achy type. Certain people were romantic. He wasn't one of them. Love was for people who had nothing else to do and who were all hormonal. Love was for losers. This had always been his firm opinion, one that typically couldn't be shaken by even the hottest girl. Love was a nuisance. It took away from the time he usually set aside for kicking people's butts. Why would he waste his time on it? There was so many kids just asking for it out there!

Sasha was different than the rest of them.

Bobby couldn't help but notice how Sasha isolated himself. He stayed away from Milla's parties, he didn't teach large groups of students at once, and he never talked to anyone normally. He avoided conversation. Bobby admired that. The man radiated power, but it was untouchable power. Like a distant star, Sasha glittered just out of reach of everyone else.

Sasha didn't believe in love either. The German man had told him that once, softly, like he was unsure of how to say it. Bobby knew how he felt. No one ever believed him when he said he didn't believe in love. They assumed he couldn't get a date and left it at that. They didn't know what it was like to be born without the normal range of feelings. What it was like to struggle so hard to show how he felt. Sasha understood. Bobby got the feeling that, even as a kid, Sasha had never been very social.

Bobby knew it was wishful thinking – his feelings could never be returned.

Even so, Sasha was worth the wait. He was a cool, awesomely decisive man. He was exactly was Bobby wished he could be. Maybe that was wishful thinking, too. Did it matter? In the end, Bobby's whole life was a bunch of crushed wishes: He wanted to be an astronaut, he wanted to a Mofia leader, he wanted to a Psychonaut, and he'd once wanted to be a poet. None of these were really within his reach, but he didn't focus on it. Reality was a terrifying thing, one that could rip him apart if he thought about it. It was better to think of other things; things that he could fantasize about endlessly. Those things helped ease the pain.

Ah, the joys of wishful thinking.


	10. MikhailChloe

The bear had attacked her out of nowhere.

Chloe hated this planet. It had bears. Space didn't have bears. These were the thoughts she was thinking as she ran, tripping over rocks and logs and her own feet. Her hands clawed at the ground, trying to keep propelling herself forward. Her helmet had fallen off at some point. Dirt was everywhere on her, and bugs splattered her helmet. She kept going anyway, tears filling her eyes as her heart pounded in her chest and her ears. The second she got her own spaceship, she was blowing up this planet. It was gone. Space dust. If she lived, it would be her new goal to torture and dissect all bears for science.

"Lay off of the small alien girl!"

Chloe blinked at the voice, then a hat-wearing yellow blur went by and moments later the bear was limping off. It glared and snorted, but he wasn't afraid. The bear trudged off, growling yet defeated. She stared in shock. Mikhail stood over her, like an angel in a fur hat. His smile lit up the nighttime sky as she breathed out a sigh of relief. So few kids had their brains back right now… without him, she'd be dead.

"Oh, Mikhail!" Chloe hugged him. "You're an amazing Earthling! Thank you so much!"

"Iz nothing," he replied with his Russian accent, blushing a little. Chloe was so scared still, he could feel her shaking.

Then, suddenly, she was crying, bawling like an Earth baby, and she couldn't stop. It was as if the situation had finally sunk in – she was in the woods, almost entirely unprotected, and an hour ago her brain had been in a jar on a shelf somewhere in an abandoned asylum, all because she had gone off in search of old antennas by the lake. Benny and Bobby had offered her protection, an escort, but _nooo_, she had to go by herself to get the stuff because she didn't trust humans. And yet now here she was, in the arms of a human. She felt so very, very weak at that moment.

Chloe felt like an idiot, since Mikhail was so tough, but when she pulled away and wiped away her tears, he leaned close and whispered before kissing her, "Is ok to cry. My mother in Russia, she say this to me before she die and my American mother say it now and then. Is okay for aliens, too."

Then he straightened up and grinned. "And here is helmet," he declared, pulling it from his mind. "Good protection, but I think is better if you stay in Kid's Cabins."

Chloe decided to trust the human, and turned to hide the smile creeping up on her face. "I will."


	11. JTChops

"So, _James_, where's Kitty?" Chops asked coldly, looking at the moon.

His body felt shaky, and his heart was beating fast, but he told himself that it was because of his brain only just being put back in his head. It was NOT, he told himself, because J.T. was standing right next to him, so close that they were sharing body heat and it COULDN'T be because the moon was hitting 'James' at the just the right angle to illuminate his face, making it pale and tempting.

"I don't know, and I figure I shouldn't rightly care," J.T. replied, looking down.

There was silence for a long time. Night birds chirped occasionally, a roar in the distance made the two boys jump, yet nothing was said. There was tension there that neither could cut. J.T. looked at Chops and took a deep breath. A hundred things to say went through his mind, but nothing came out of his mouth. In his mind, sitting in a jar, he'd prepared flowery speeches both Western and non to tell Chops how sorry he was. Elegant words and apologies that could have maybe soothed some things over died in his mouth. Chops didn't like things to be complicated like that. All he wanted was a friend. And for a while J.T. had been that friend, until Elka.

What could he say? This was all his fault, yet not his fault at all. He felt confused just thinking about it. Chops had every right to kick this little doggie when he was down. J.T. had ditched him like a bad tempered horse at an auction, and fer what? A girl with poofy blonde hair and bug eyes who called him James. He wanted to hug Chops, but he didn't. That very thought disturbed him, because it wasn't a friendly hug he wanted. He turned his eyes away from his friend and tried not to think about it.

Finally, Chops muttered, "Sorry, man. I shoulda been cool with it. You were you my friend – I mean, you _are_, eh?"

J.T. turned and their eyes locked. A pair of more than friendly smiles crept onto their faces as Chops took his hand.

"Yeah, partner, we're still friends."

He did not add the words 'maybe more?'. The two knew without saying a word that the answer to the unspoken question was yes.


	12. RazBobby

Author's Notes: I just want to say that I had fun writing this, even though its late and I should be doing my French homework.

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"Quit calling me Goggalicious," Raz told Bobby bluntly one day.

It was a warm day, and the fifthteen year olds were hanging out by the docks. Bobby was torturing fish, Benny and Milka were learning how to talk to fish (courtesy of Elton's tutoring) and most of the kids were swimming. The sun made it too hot to run around, but just cool enough in the shade to hang out. Raz wasn't sure why he was watching Bobby torture fish, although it may have been out of boredom. A seagull circled overhead and Raz shot it without looking or thinking twice. An explosion of feathers fell into the water.

A laugh escaped Bobby's now fixed teeth. Four years of braces had straightened them out, and despite a tinge of yellow they passed for human. Raz glanced over and grinned. Now, if only the poofy afro could be fixed, life would be perfect for Bobby, who had now quit torturing kids. (He discovered animals ran faster and burned brighter.) The orange hair was the same fluffy, wild blob it had been when they were younger, only bigger. Raz had taken to calling it 'Bobby's second levitation ball'.

Bobby turned to Raz, speaking free of the lisp he used to have constantly, "Why should I do that, stupid?"

He focused hard on finding a good insult, some other part of the boy's physical appearance he could mock… Just in case Bobby decided not to use the goggalicious line anymore.

Instead, he found himself staring at Raz's hair, out of its helmet and freely hanging to Raz's chin. The soft wine red was waving ever so slightly in the breeze, like a warning flag. Green eyes grinned at him, and Bobby knew a comeback was forming in Raz's mind the same way he shot down a seagull: instantly, smoothly, and without effort. Though Raz could be quite serious, during summer his sense of humor, lost on missions, returned full force.

Raz's reply was, "If you don't, Bobby, I'll have to do something terrible."

"Oh, yeah?" An eyebrow raised as the tall Psychonaut stepped closer.

"Yeah," he intoned, voice softer, deadly, "Something so horrible, so amazing, your brain may explode – if not, your hair definitely will, Hairboy. Its just that awesome."

"What is it?" Bobby asked, genuinely nervous now. Older, yes, wiser, no. He was still gullible and he shook as Raz moved closer.

Closer. Closer. He could see Raz's eyes clearly now, the dangerous glint in their core and the soft, small black eyelashes. The sight burned into his mind, set him on fire with sudden passion, and his jaw dropped. Raz's breath was cool on his cheek. His dark eyes widened. Time stood still, the heat and the fact that twenty kids were watching melted away as Raz drew closer. Not even an inch away now. Bobby's hands gripped the rope railing of the dock, shaking in anticipation. He felt himself gasp and his heart fluttered in sheer disbelief.

Then Raz's eyes flashed devilishly and he shoved Bobby into the water.


	13. LiliMilla

Author's Notes: Another couple I love that I can't write very well. WHY, GOD, WHY!

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"I'm not coming out!" Milla protested from inside the dressing room of the Hot Topic, where Lili had dragged her, "Darling, I love you, but this is too much."

Lili's amber eyes narrowed.

Lili had always gotten what she wanted. When she was little, she'd gotten everything from her mother and father. They spoiled her rotten. If Lillianna wanted to be called Lili, they called her Lili. If Lili wanted to go to Whispering Rock, she got to go to Whispering Rock. If Lili wanted to stay at Milla's for a week, they'd let her.

It had come easy. A snap of a fingers, a plead, and some big eyes. With that, the world was hers.

Then her mother had died, and Lili had toughened up after a week of sobbing into Milla's shoulder. Lili's father didn't want to spoil her. He didn't have to. She'd spoil herself.

If Lillianna wanted to be called Lili, she blasted people and smart mouthed and rolled her eyes until she was called that. If she wanted to go to Whispering Rock, she just got up and left with Milla, no questions asked. She would get what she wanted no matter what. Now if the nineteen year old Lili wanted to stay a week with Milla, she barged in at ten o'clock at night and settled herself on the couch like family.

Lili always got what she wanted, even if it was hard work.

Coaxing Milla into a relationship had been an uphill battle. Milla was just being Milla – she didn't want to hurt Lili, didn't want to ruin her reputation, maybe Lili should give Raz another chance, blah blah blah. It didn't matter. Lili wanted Milla, and she got Milla in the end. Once Lili hit eighteen, Milla ran out of legal excuses.

And damm it all, Lili wanted to see Milla in something that wasn't brightly colored.

"C'mon, Milla," Lili said insistently, "You promised me. I wore bows in my hair for your birthday, you have to wear something for me. Do you have ANY idea how many bras here I could make you try on?"

Milla laughed. No one else had the sadistic, yet charming humor Lili did. "Fine, darling. I'm coming out."

"In what way?" The rest of her comment died on her lips as Lili took in the sight of Milla in a black leather jacket. A smile curved her already round face as she hugged her girlfriend to her. "As you would say, Milla," Lili put on a high pitched voice, "How cute!"


	14. GloriaEdgar

Author's Note: FINALLY, you people give me something to write that doesn't make me bang my head off the wall in frustration. This is cute, in my opinion.

For reference, I'm still taking requests, but you'll have to wait until weekends for the chaps – highschool is rough…

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His painting was the only thing for it.

Whenever her mood swings got to be too much to handle, the only thing for it was for Gloria to rush up to his little art room and sit for a while, watching him paint. The motions were so simple, yet produced such amazing works. She became so intent on watching the brush strokes, the way his large hands moved, that her moods were forgotten. Music did not soothe her. Art did.

He was annoyed, long ago, when she would sit there. But he could never find it in him to kick her out. Her eyes, so maddened and so afraid, would silently beg him to let her stay. She was innocent, he learned. Over the years she told him her story. If not for her mother, she would have remained sane. It wasn't her choice, or her fault. Fred could fight Napoleon if he wanted to. Edgar himself was making progress with his obsession. But she hadn't had a choice, hadn't had a fighting chance.

She reminded him of a child, sitting there quietly at first, then beginning to grow bolder as monthes turned to years. She asked how he did one thing or how he mixed a certain color. Sometimes she even became coherent enough to have a conversation. On those days Edgar Teglee got a glimpse of what Gloria must have been like before. Elegant, kind, and with a keen eye for mood, she was almost good enough to be an art critic.

Other days she was stark raving mad when she came. Sometimes she'd be so angry she couldn't do much more than growl out something about Jasper and a stage; sometimes she was so happy he knew she wasn't all there as she talked idly about someone named Becky who ran some long-gone play or other; lastly she could be, once in a while, so sad that all she could do was cry about her mother and her friends.

Most times, she was both or all three in the span of ten minutes.

Eventually, though, she'd stop her ranting, her sobbing, and her laughing and come over to the easel, to watch the way he created fantastic images from paint and imagination. The madness would fade, slowly. Entranced, she'd kneel beside him. Most times, she would sit behind him for a few minutes. She calmed down, enough that she wasn't on the verge of killing someone, killing herself, or laughing until she choked.

Then she would leave, with a faint smile (not one of her mad ones) and walk calmly back to her fake theater, to her madness in which she was safe.

Edgar knows one he will have driven the bulls from his mind and she will have given up her obsession over the theater. He believes in his heart that on that day, in spite of it all, they will still be together. Logically, he knows she'll leave the asylum and head home (if she still has one) or maybe buy a new home, because she was certainly rich enough from her glory days. But he was an artist and a romantic. Logic meant nothing. He could see in her eyes that she still liked to be near him, still enjoyed talking to him about non-art related things.

He knows they will be together.

That is how love is.


	15. DogenLili

Author's Notes: Well, I woke up, did this, and am now going back to sleep, so this may be a little odd. But it's fluffy! And there are squirrels involved.

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"Um, Lillianna?"

She looked up from the plant she was meditating over, concerned. Dogen only called her that if there was an emergency. A quick glance at the squirrels revealed to her amber eyes the horror Dogen was trying to escape from: the had now learned to burst into flame right on top of him. Psychic though Dogen was, he still had a phobia of squirrels from back in the olden days – when they'd been campers, instead of counselors.

A few well aimed psi-blasts and Dogen was free of the squirrels, waddling over to her on his still-too-short legs. He took her hand, knowing he was safe. He always was with Lili, even back when they'd just met and she'd called him crazy. She never meant it. She loved him like a brother and he loved her like a sister.

"Thanks for saving me," he muttered, blushing and looking down. Lili was so cool, he could never find the right words to tell her what he felt. He wished he could, but she seemed to understand what he meant anyway.

"Whatever," Lili blew it off as she always did. She had her hair back in its childish pigtails from before, but they were down to her knees now. Dogen thought she looked like an angel. "Wanna go get ice cream?"

"M'kay." With that, he leaned up (she was a foot taller than him) and kissed her on the cheek. "Thanks for being my angel with ice cream."

She laughed aloud. "Oh Dogen, you're so stupid!" And kissed him on the lips.

He fell over, eyes wide. He stared at the blue, blue sky. The grass pricked at his back, but he was in heaven anyway. Lili's head appeared, surrounded by sunshine. She raised an eyebrow at him, amber eyes glowing slightly with concern/

"You gonna be okay?"

"As soon as my heart stops dancing for joy, yeah," he replied in his monotone voice. "I love you."

"Ditto," Lili shot back flippantly, helping him up. "Now come on, the ice cream place closes in an hour."

"M'kay."


	16. JasperBecky

Author's Notes: Damm, this was hard to write. I mean, seriously, JasperBecky? I love it, I understand it, I think there's untapped potential in it, but I don't think I'm good at writing it. Yet, anyway. Give me time.

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He watches her, immersing himself in the knowledge that she hasn't caught on yet.

She doesn't know how sweet she appears to him, like the Forbidden Fruit. She's untouchable as a ghost, and even when she's only twenty, fifthteen, ten feet away and twenty feet down, she may as well be a ghost. He can't get out of his balcony except when he has lots of spare energy. He can't be seen out of his balcony by anyone.

It would ruin his elaborate deception. His plans, his costume, his acting skills, all wasted for a simple infatuation. Jasper works carefully, smoothly, keeping up both appearances without ever intermixing them. It's become harder as years have gone by, but even so he knows that for the sake of his existence, he has to keep going. If he ever stopped, he'd lose his power and become small and quiet again.

What a horrible conundrum! If he stops hurting Becky, stops yelling his critiques, he'll shrink and vanish, starving slowly for all eternity as his love forgets about him. But if he has his power, Becky has no choice but to acknowledge him, even if he makes her break down and cry. Either way, someone is hurt somehow.

He knows from the theater that the honorable thing to do would be to let himself die so that she could be happy. Jasper didn't want to be honorable. He wanted to laugh and feed off of the negative vibes everyone gave off now. He wanted to run everything no matter what. He deserved this! For years, he'd let Becky run the show, watching the same plays constantly with little critique. Was it so wrong to want this power?

Jasper knows he's right. He always was. So why was there a pang in his heart when he saw Becky scream in frustration? Why couldn't he bring himself to yell at her? Oh, he yelled about her work and about the plays, but Becky… she was off limits as far as _that_ was concerned. Those locks of orange hair, that silky blue skin! It was like trying to insult an angel, he thinks as he watches her go backstage to talk to Bonita.

He sits and watches diligently.

Thankfully, she hasn't caught on yet.


	17. EdgarLili

The soft Spanish music soothed Edgar as he painted.

People were giving him a wide berth in Psychonauts HQ. He didn't blame them. He knew they thought him quite mad despite tests, and would rather avoid him. However, he didn't notice them either. He was painting a flower, mostly of dark red shades, but it wasn't coming out right. Maybe it was this atmosphere. People coming and going, invisible and otherwise, talking and laughing. He'd turned on his the radio nearby very quietly, hoping to calm himself, but it wasn't working. The flower before him was not what he wanted.

Eight years ago, he'd been released from the asylum. Once a year the Psychonauts staff called Edgar, Gloria, Fred, and Crispin in to check their minds for any sign of a relapse. Once a year, Edgar waited in near utter boredom, trying to paint out his frustration while all around him, the psychic staff of the building made so much noise he could barely think.

Explosions would go off at random intervals, and strange scents filled the air. Today was the worst visit yet. When Edgar arrived, the whole place smelled of flowers, hence his painting. Now, it smelled like walnuts. The building was deceptively peaceful looking: nice red carpeting, white walls, and lots of windows, chandeliers, and elegant architecture. Spiraling staircases and engravings on the doorknobs gave it a high class appeal.

But very few high class mansions would be this loud.

It was a routine: quiet, birds chirping, then a loud boom that would shake the whole building. Voices from above and below, footsteps pounding, and then another boom followed by a strange whiff of chemicals. From his seat in the fourth floor lobby, Edgar could glimpse things heading towards the ground after being thrown out windows. Animals, television sets, even rocks were thrown, all for some science he didn't know anything about.

He sighed. He'd never get this done at this rate. Working here was like trying to teach cats Chinese. Rubbing his neck, he looked at the clock. Still at least twenty minutes before Fred got out. Until then, he had nothing to do. At all.

"Nice work," a young woman commented as she walked by. "But it needs more yellow."

He turned, and got a glimpse of long dark wine-red hair and a dark green Psychonauts uniform. He knew he stared. Her hair was long, in two girlish ponytails that reached her waist. She looked like some sort of pale flower, rushing by. Like a red, wilted, wavy flower set in a dark green stem. She glanced back, eyes a light brown gold hue that struck him speechless. His heart was pounding a million miles per hour as he read her name tag: Lili. A beautiful flower name for a beautiful flower girl.

And then she was gone.

For a moment he just sat there, shocked and suddenly breathless. Slowly he turned back to his flower. She was the flower. So, humming softly, he picked up his paintbrush to add some yellow to it.

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Author's Notes: Wow, I'm on a roll today. Since no one requested anything yet, here I am writing this.


	18. EltonMilka

The fish talked to Elton. All the time.

They only talked to Milka when they were hungry, or when she was sad. She would talk to them for hours when no one was watching, and they would listen politely, but they didn't talk to her like they did to Elton. They would have long conversations with Elton, lasting deep into the night and starting early each morning. She saw him last year, talking to the fish.

Milka wished she knew how he did that – how he talked to the fish and they answered. No one answered Milka whenever she spoke, if she did. She had a hard time speaking for too long because of a birth defect that affected her lungs… But that didn't matter to Elton. He'd say hi to her and he seemed thrilled to get a response at all. She didn't need to explain to him that she wasn't shy, she just wanted to see how long she could go invisible. He didn't care what her reason was, as long as she was happy.

Even so, she didn't feel the need to go invisible around him. He never commented on her appearance or anything she was insecure about. He had a seventh sense about that kind of thing. She watched him talk to other people. Her parents were a subject that could break her down, so he never brought it up. Bobby didn't like to talk about all the scientific junk Sasha threw at everyone, so Elton never mentioned it. Benny was sensitive about his nose, so Elton kept the conversation focused on other matters. He didn't think too much about people's flaws.

Elton was cool like that. He didn't rush to conclusions about people (save Raz). He was actually happy that she could talk to fish, unlike Bobby, who called her a liar and walked off. Elton rejoiced in having found another who could talk to fish, and he told her it was something only the best psychics could do.

"Maybe it's something only the best people can do," she'd replied softly. Amazingly, he heard her and his jaw dropped. "I really think you're cool, Elton."

"Really?" he asked, then grinned. "I like you too! Wanna go see if the tuna are still freaking out?"

"Sure Elton," Milka smiled, and felt no need to go invisible as they held hands and walked towards the beach.


	19. EltonLili

Lili would not say it.

Those three little words that had driven her insane ever since she was nine, begging to come out, were now begging to be spoken. They haunted her, every waking moment and every sleepless night. They poked and prodded and promised things they couldn't deliver. They wanted to get out.

She had always been thinking about saying those words to him. They floated, tempting, and she had to wonder. She knew there was something there when they talked, when he did her homework. But Lili could not say them. She knew there was something when he told her Raz probably had his reasons for leaving her, and that she'd feel better if she heard Raz out. He was right. She should have said it then. Should have let it out like she wanted to.

However, Lili was a prideful person. It burned her to think she even felt that way about him. So she said nothing, except her typical remarks and sweet nothings that were all masking what she really felt. Even though her heart was ready after Raz left her, she couldn't come out and say those cursed three words that he, of all campers, deserved to hear.

Time passed. She became a Psychonaut and he, a Marine. Their uniforms changed. She wore her hair short, now that long hair was back in style. He lost the fearful nature he had, although he was still his sweet self. They met once a month, at a Psychonauts-sponsored meeting between different armies and branches of military from different cultures. Lili would say hi to him, ask him how life was going. He'd tell her about some fish he'd met somewhere.

She could have told him, a hundred times. There were a hundred opportunities. The problem distracted her from her work, and she considered not going. She couldn't find her voice. The leering images of her peers burned her resolve into a pulp. Shyness, something she'd never thought to be a part of her, haunted her constantly.

Finally, pride gives way to love.

Lili Zanotto cannot take it anymore. She books a plane in advance and arrives early to Psychonaut Headquarters. Her hair is brushed neatly, and her heart is pounding. She knows Sasha and Milla will share smiles not quite behind her back. She knew without a second thought that Raz would laugh outright. Lili's father might actually have a heart attack. They all think her cold to him. Out of love and out of touch. Possibly never in love with him, considering they only dated when they were nine. But they couldn't be more wrong.

There had always been something there. Those three words that begged to be spoken did not just fall out of the sky without reason. She didn't, hadn't, and couldn't have admitted to it, yet somewhere deep down she'd always known they belonged side by side. He was so perky and so generous. She was so dark and so misunderstood, it had lost the cliché and turned into a nightmare long ago. Only he gave her chance from the beginning. Only he did her homework and worked so hard at keeping their relationship alive for the past twenty years. The others thought he was being pushy. But it was possible, she realized as she ran through the airport, that he'd realized it earlier. He'd seen the look she gave him when she wanted to speak those accursed three words, and he'd figured it out. He'd always been good at matters of the heart. And fish. But mostly heart.

She was stunned when it happened.

Lili had asked Milla where he was. It was early, but he was never late. Milla and Sasha exchanged looks. They were hiding something. Years ago they would have lied to her. She was twenty nine now. They couldn't use her age as an excuse and they could not deny the woman in front of them, eyes alight with worry. Her stomach sank. Fists clenched as one rain soaked Psychonaut demanded her two teachers spit it out.

Finally, Sasha placed a hand on her shoulder and froze her to the ground with a very different three words.

"He died yesterday."

More was being said, but Lili Zanotto did not hear any of it. Her eyes had gone very wide, her hands unclenched and still. Her mouth slightly open, she left the building. The rain pounded her as she headed blindly onward, her chest blossoming with pain from heartbreak. There was no way for her to kid herself. She couldn't talk herself out of this. All she could do was shake and keep walking.

Finally, she looked up at the heavens, where she knew he was, and let those three words go, "I love you."

Then she fell to her knees, will crushed. The rain couldn't compete with her tears, hard though it could try. One hand went up to her face to stifle the tears, but another was clenched tightly again. This wasn't fair. She felt like a fool. Lili had had twenty years to spit out three words, and she hadn't been able to. Slowly, she rose to her feet, and shook silently.

The three words were useless now.

Elton Fir was dead.


	20. BennyBobby

It was all Raz's fault, Benny would say later, blushing black and blue. Everything was Raz's fault.

It had started out the summer when they were twelve. The campers were all taking orders from Raz, the official junior counselor, and even though the young Psychonaut had sworn he wasn't going to abuse his power, he did. He'd been doing well until Benny and Bobby had walked into the forest by the GPC, talking quietly about beating different people up. The sight of the two gave him an idea, and even though he could practically feel the consequences that were sure to follow, he couldn't help it.

"Bobby, Benny!" Raz called down, goggles hiding the glint in his eyes, "Sasha says you're both supposed to spend four hours in one of the GPC pods!"

Bobby's eyes went so wide, Raz almost felt bad for him. The blue skinned bully shook at the thought of having to go into the GPC again. He paled before getting angry, "WHY? What the hell did I – we – do?"

"Sasha said you know what you've done, and that you have to spend four hours in there," Raz explained, biting back a grin. Ah, revenge was a dish best served in close quarters. "Sorry, Bobby, he didn't say anything else, and you'll have to spend even more time in there if you don't go now."

That did it. Four hours was bad enough without adding onto it. Grabbing Benny by the hand, he marched towards the place he so hated. Behind him, Raz was breaking down with silent laughter. Neither noticed.

Once the GPC hatch was closed behind them, the only light was Benny's glow in the dark wristwatch. The result was that the two wound up far too close for comfort, and it got very scary, very quickly. Everything was dark, Benny protested later, and every little noise or shuffle made it feel like they were being attacked. What mattered to Bobby, however, was that eventually they twisted into an awkward bundle on the padded floor, and he could feel Benny shaking.

Bobby was scared, but Benny was about ready to have a breakdown, and he was whimpering. All of a sudden Bobby felt a rush of empathy for his goon. Benny hadn't done anything wrong. It was all probably Bobby's fault, and now the lovable henchmen was paying for it in a stuffy, dark, locked room. And it was all because of that stupid Raz that the two of them were there, because without Raz being so stupid, Bobby wouldn't have had to beat him up (or try to).

Benny blinked as Bobby awkwardly tried to hold him. Given their positions (right on top of each other) this was hard and resulted in Benny blushing. Suddenly he couldn't help but think that maybe Bobby loved him as more than a friend, maybe Raz had done them a favor, and maybe it would be okay for them to… maybe…

"DID YOU JUST TRY TO KISS ME?!"

Well, Benny reminisced as he flew through the fresh forest air, it was _mostly_ Raz's fault, but that part wasn't.


	21. BobbyLili

"Uh, hey Lili, what's up?"

"Go to hell, Zilch," was the girl's only reply as she sat on the ice-cold curb, waiting for her father to pick her up. Or more accurately, for some goon her father sent for her to pick her up.

It was December 22nd, and Lili was currently staring into space furiously, looking ready to burn something. Indeed, some candles across the street were blazing a little too brightly. In a dark red dress, she looked like an angel that had just had its wings ripped up and was devising a plan for payback. Preferably a plan that left that person incapable of movement.

They were outside their highschool, which Bobby had only been attending for a year. When his family moved there, initially Lili wouldn't give him the time of day. They had four classes together, though, so eventually, they quit trying to kill each other. Bobby had even been making an effort to be more friendly, although it hadn't been going well.

He had seen Lili at the dance, and noted her frustrated departure. He'd followed, trying to think of something comforting. Sadly, he wasn't good at comforting people. Typically, Bobby made it worse. For a moment, he wondered what happened. There had to be a way he could help her out.

Lili read his thoughts. "Raz dumped me for Quentin."

Bobby froze, then his jaw dropped. "No effin' way."

Lili sighed as it began to snow, and stood up, trying to get some feeling back into her arms. She rubbed them absently and spelled it out for him. "Raz decided Quentin was nicer and cooler than me, and apparently I'm not 'open' enough." She did the twitching of two fingers when she came to the word open that made Bobby smile in spite of himself.

"Eh, he's just being stupid. I've always said he was," Bobby grinned as Lili shook her head, the tiniest spark of amusement in her eyes. "Besides, you're beautiful and cool and… and stuff. Maybe you're too good for him."

Lili looked at him for a moment, her eyes dry now, and then suddenly Bobby was being hugged tightly, left in a daze by her perfume and the soft contact of her dark red hair. He hugged her back, blushing ten shades of dark blue. The two stood like that, grinning and blushing in the gentle snowfall, when suddenly a limo pulled up, and they both knew that it was there for Lili.

"Bobby," she said before departing, "You're an ass. But you're still cool."

"You too," he muttered weakly as the car drove off, leaving him the cheesiest smile of his life. He'd have to kill anyone who saw him grinning like that. "You too, stupid."


	22. RazLili

She freaks me out.

I mean, she's so lucky. She gets to go to Whispering Rock every year. She gets to train with the two coolest teachers in the world – actual PSYCHONAUTS! Lili doesn't seem to care about that. She talks down to Sasha and acts like Milla is her mom. I can't understand it. If I were her, I'd be training all day and exploring the Mental World all night, not standing under the Main Lodge watching Kitty and Franke weave friendship bracelets.

Then again, I guess that's what makes her so cool. She's beaten every course, earned every badge, and has time to relax. That's how Lili is, I guess. Relaxed. Cynical, and she really knows how to glare at me, but… she's so cool with everything. Nothing shakes her up, even Oleander's basically insane Basic Braining. I wish I could be calm like that. Then I might be able to earn merit badges faster.

It freaks me out (in the good way) that she's got all her badges. Man, that's awesome. Sasha told Milla that I have 'some sort of merit badge related fetish'. Lili stopped dead in her tracks and tried to burn him, but it may be true. I mean, to be qualified to enter Psychonauts Academy at her age… That's awesome. Then when I become a Psychonaut, we can work together!

But I'm not waiting until I'm out of highschool. I'm going to be a Psychonaut even if Lili thinks I'm insane. It hurts when she doubts my dream. How can she say the world doesn't need us anymore? The world has always needed heroes, except now, we get to burn stuff! So what if I'm ten? It's just a number. When I become a Psychonaut, she'll see the light.

Maybe then she'll explain about the 'shut up and kiss me' thing…

_That_ really freaked me out!


	23. FredCrispin

Author's Notes: I'm working on the rest of your requests, people. Just give me a break here. I'm a freshman. I have no free time.

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He paused, unsure if this was a good idea or not. The cell door creaked open at the lightest touch, startling him as he took a step into the dingy room.

"You're Crispin, right?"

The inmate whimpered in response and backed up like a frightened animal. His blue hair was a mess that went twenty different directions, his thin frame made thinner by lack of proper food. The straitjacket was tied tightly, but closer inspection revealed that some of the straps had been broken. The broken ones had then been 'fixed' with duct tape and rope and rubber bands. Crispin was sporting a bloody lip, because he bit and chewed on himself as a nervous habit. His bad eye was unmoving, but his good eye focused on Fred, and the inmate gave a soft whine before backing into a corner.

Knowing better than to approach anyone or anything backed into a corner, Fred simply smiled and held out his hand. "Want to play Waterloo-O?" Receiving a blank stare, he held up the game. "My friends sent it to me – kind of a joke, you see. One of my ancestors was Napoleon Bonaparte." When Crispin rolled his eyes, Fred could've sworn he saw the corners of those red lips turn upwards, so he pressed on, "It's stupid, I know, but I think it'd be nice to go down to the cafeteria and play, you know, for a change of atmosphere."

There was silence. Crispin looked away, then finally stated clearly. "One. Game. That's all."

Fred could have jumped for joy. Instead, he held open the door for Crispin as they walked up. "You, uh, gonna be able to make it down these stairs okay?"

He shouldn't have spoken. The response from Crispin is immediate and sharp, "My MIND is broken, not my LEGS, you twit."

Fred looks down as they continued, feeling very awkward all of a sudden. He was such a screw up when it came to trying to be friends with people. Why did he even take this job? It was a bad idea. Before they reached the cafeteria, he felt the need to touch Crispin gently on the shoulder and mumble an apology, clearly meaning every word.

"Eh, General," Crispin replied, grinning madly at the pet name, "It's alright. Let's just play, okay?"

"You mean it?" Fred raised an eyebrow, "You're not mad at me?"

"What are we, three?" asked the inmate, his confidence growing more and more as he got further away from his cell. "Just get us a table."

"Okay!" Fred hugged the inmate briefly, ignoring the raised eyebrows he was getting. "I knew this was a good idea!"

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Fred shook off the teddy bear for the hundredth time, looking around insanely. "This was a horrible idea. We're all going to die."

Crispin watched with feigned interest as the younger man shook the gnome off of his leg, his French side yelling something incomprehensible that ended with 'viva la France!'. The night air was cool, and the wind rustled in the air above. There was no wind in the asylum itself – not on this level, anyway. Its walls kept the wind out, making for a still and warm place among the cold of the night. The cobblestones were chipped, like a spiderweb of cracks. Fred's freaky Napoleon side often muttered about the state of the place not being one for a Bonaparte.

It wasn't something that could be fixed. Much like Fred's head, it was beyond repair. All Crispin could do was watch, under the pretense of being an orderly.

Really, though, he was here because he wanted to keep an eye on Fred. A tiny part of him way, deep down was filled with regret for turning Fred into the maniac that he was. Granted, Crispin found it kind of funny, but when the night set in, the humor of it was lost. All he could think about was how awful this was. How when his employment here ended, he was taking Fred with him for some proper help. One day he'd make it up to Fred.

Fred Bonaparte was the only man who had ever been nice to him. The man had smiled at him, gone out of his way to talk to him, and let him play a board game instead of being cooped up in a cell. Of course, Crispin tried hard not to think about when they had hugged… That brief moment of physical friction that had caused him to look at men rather strangely afterward. He was trying not to think how long and smooth Fred's legs were, and how nice the man was to live with.

Those thoughts were a bad idea.


	24. SashaLaboto

"Well, well, well," a voice laced with insanity drawls, "Look who's awake!"

Sasha Nein blinked, his mind groggy. There was some sort of horrible taste in his mouth… Some sort of chemical, perhaps? Then he realized that if he didn't know where he was, and he was tasting an unknown chemical substance, someone had kidnapped him. In seconds he was more awake than he'd ever been in his life. An attempt to move his hand brought sharp psycho-electrical charges crashing through his body and he froze. This was bad. He couldn't move his arms or legs.

An attempt to burn his captor generated only smoke. Sasha swore and tried to focus on getting a look at the room. It was pointless – his neck was strapped down too. All he could see was a blue skinned man in a shower cap a few feet away, watching him with mismatched eyes and a giant smile.

"Do you know who you are?" Laboto asked curiously.

"Yes," came the sharp reply, "A Psychonaut who is hereby placing you under arrest!"

"Excellent!" the man squealed, poking Sasha's cheek with his good hand. Then he grinned a little wider than was necessary. It was unsettling. "Your brain was _so_ cute, you know. Putting it in was almost too much to bare! But sometimes these things are necessary! Good of all type deal, you know?"

"Under Psychonauts regulation thirty three point four, section C, I hereby order you to release me at once." Sasha snapped, hoping that regulation would get him out of this. If Laboto ignored this order, Sasha would in the clear (legally) to kill him. "Failure to comply"-

"Aren't you the cutest thing!" the dentist squealed, hugging his prisoner for a brief moment. "You AND your brain!"

Sasha was now beginning to feel real fear. Laboto, seeing this, chuckled and ruffled Sasha's raven hair. The Psychonaut stopped breathing for a moment and tried to turn away from this insanity. His heart beat sped up. His sunglasses were plucked from his face, so he shut his eyes before the light could disorientate him further. There was a pause, then his captor moved away. There was a click, then the light dimmed.

"Your eyes are so adorable, Sasha Nein!" the not totally unexpected response came. "Grey and brown and just _so_ cute."

Sasha shuddered as Laboto leaned over him. Closer and closer, the mad dentist moved. The air was still and all the protector of free thought could do was stare as Laboto pressed his lips against his. Sasha flinched back and tried to move again, only to receive another painful shock. Not wanting to endure any more pain, all he could do was sit there and try to ignore what was happening. This task was made no easier by Sasha's heart racing and his mind shutting down as Laboto smiled against him. It was so wrong, but he moaned against it anyway. He couldn't breathe, but he wanted more. He was beginning to wonder what chemical substance this madman had used on him. This wasn't normal – he was shaking. Sasha was scared as they finally broke apart.

"Dr. Laboto!" it was a squeaky female voice, coming from down the stairs. "Come here a minute!"

Laboto grinned devilishly at the now flushed and gasping Psychonaut, then said five words that scared Sasha Nein more than the kiss had.

"Don't worry, I'll be back!"


	25. NilsQuentin

"Yo, Quentin," Nils called out as he walked into the Main Lodge, "Where's that cute firestarting chick you hang out with?"

Quentin sighed, "If you mean Phoebe, she went home sick. Sorry, my bro." Then he perked up. "Wanna here my new song?"

"Maybe some other time," Nils replied, secretly thinking he'd never listen to any of that stuff ever again. The memory of Phoebe setting Quentin's drums of fire was fresh in his mind. "So, whatcha been up to the last year?"

He should've known better than to ask Quentin that. The redhead grinned and got off the stage, adjusting his scarf like he did when he was going to tell a story. But Nils figured 'better it be Quentin than Vernon', and sat down to listen while Quentin TK'd two cups of hot chocolate over to them. All was quiet that day. The time between classes always was. Quentin had gotten taller, now, but other than that everything was like it had always been. Peaceful. Vaguely boring.

"Man, I realized around Christmas that I had no clue what I was all about," Quentin started. "I asked some big questions. Who was I? What was I? Should I start taking piano lessons?"

At this point Quentin paused, and Nils made a "hmm" sound that apparently passed as an answer.

"My eyes were opened. I tried all this crazy cool stuff – psychic fishing, laser tag, going vegan, all this stuff I'd never thought I'd wanna try. After a while I figured out a lot about myself. I like veggies, man, but I can't do vegan if it means no milk in my cocoa." At this, Nils grinned. Quentin smiled back. "I liked piano, but the flute was cool too – it makes some awesomely high notes. My bro, you would not believe how religious and psychedelic an experience it was. I figured out what kind of Psychonaut I wanna be and everything."

"You're lucky," Nils replied smugly. "All I know is that I want to be a Psychonaut."

Quentin placed a hand over Nils. "Hey, bro, we all got to start somewhere. Just chill and wait for it to happen. You can't force it. I was looking for UFOs when I realized my life calling, and I saw a UFO when I was trying to find my life calling. You know?

The blond nodded slowly. Then, "Can I tell you a secret? Promise not to tell?"

"Of course," Quentin replied instantly. "I don't tell secrets unless they're mine."

"I think I might be… a little…" Nils paused, then muttered, "Bisexual."

"Cool," was the flippant reply. "I figured out I was gay last year. Phoebe was so relieved that I got over my crush on Kitty, she didn't burn anything for a week!"

Nils smiled. "So you don't think it's weird?"

"Nah. It's cool. Just don't expect any words of wisdom from me," Hedgemouse grinned ruefully. "I have no clue what the hell romance is about."

"Me neither," Nils laughed, then looked down. "Um, you're still holding my hand."

"And?"

"I know I'm an extremely attractive guy, and I don't blame you for diggin' me, but I'm already in a relationship." Nils explained smoothly.

"NILS!" Elka's voice sounded in the distance. "I HATE YOU!"

Quentin grinned fit to scare Satan. "And now, you're not."

With that said, he pounced on Nils, who's only reply was, "Don't mess up my hair, hippie!"


	26. FredGloria

Author's Note: My comp broke, and it took me months to get a new one. I lost a lot of my writing, so it took me a while to redo everything. I'm very sorry about the wait, people, but I tried my best. Now, without further ado…

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He always watched her perform.

Fred was involved in a war somehow; Gloria understood when he had to miss some performances. But he was there so often she wondered if the press had caught wind of him, the war general who always managed to get tickets to her show in the front row. Gloria imagined there was quite a scandal among her fans. But it didn't matter.

None of that was real to her anymore, now that he watched her perform.

He always had a kind word, although more often than not a gruff French voice would call him back to the battle. He always told her the exact lines he loved. He paid attention to her, not just her acting but herself. Half the time he'd be there before the show went on, just to chat about how she was and if she was feeling okay. Such a concerned, compassionate fellow, and she loved him.

Every time she performed, she made sure to smile at him, because he was her friend.

Some days she'd be weary and stressed to the point of breaking from her long performances. It seemed she'd never get a break from this fame! But he came anyway, to sit with her and ask if there was anything he could do. He wanted to know if she'd been eating okay, how her career was, and was she getting enough rest? He wasn't just a fan. He was an angel, sent to guard her now that she was older. Gloria felt indebted to this man who never failed to put a smile on her face. She even offered him acting lessons, or a chance to perform in a play, a movie – something to give back to him for being there every day.

He told her no each time, that watching her perform was a reward within itself.

Everyday the world seemed less real and less stable. Things shifted in her mind, randomly and uncontrollably. One time she'd left the theater and collapsed somewhere dark. Rats ran everywhere and she wasn't sure where she was. She couldn't move. It was Fred, enlisting the help of a British gentlemen he knew, who got her back to the theater safely and he himself bandaged the bite one of the rats had given her. She tried to explain how it had happened – how she'd been so tired, and she'd skipped lunch, and how confusing her mind was sometimes – but he simply shushed her and told her it was alright, it happened to him all the time. With this knowledge came a flood wave of relief for Gloria. She wasn't alone.

When she performed that night, he sat there and smiled as if he was proud.

She smiled back, because she was in love.


	27. MillaTruman Zanotto

He blushed whenever she spoke.

Maybe it was the accent. That Brazilian lift to her words that made it possible to identify her in a crowd. Or maybe it was her use of the word 'darling'. He knew she used it on everyone, but it was still the kind of word that made him pause for a moment. Most of all, he thought it was that disarming smile she had for everyone. Milla Vodello was the embodiment of joy and friendliness. She never lost her temper or spoke an angry word, which made her ideal for her new career instructing young psychics.

Every day back when they were Cadets, Milla was the first one there. She always had a compliment for her fellow classmates, even those who didn't like her. One time, she carried Truman inside when he sprained his ankle. Once he got over his teen embarrassment, the selflessness of the action sunk in. Milla, who barely knew his name and didn't speak the same language, had helped him.

It was because of this he sent his daughter Lili to Whispering Rock Psychic Summer Camp, where Milla taught.

If anyone was a good influence, it was Milla. Indeed, when Lili came home it was always 'Milla said…' or 'Milla taught me…'. Truman, knowing that ever since Lili's mother died, Milla was unto a god, smiled and nodded. That was Milla: taking over the role of a mother without knowing she was doing so. Without her, Truman didn't know what he'd do to comfort Lili, who emailed Milla every day.

Milla answered every day.

Truman could have kissed her. It seemed everytime he failed, she succeeded. When he'd fallen to pieces after his wife's death, Milla had come over to his home, unbidden, and taken over everything. She cleaned up the house, got Lili to school on time, and put her career as a Psychonaut on hold for four weeks until Truman got himself together. When she finally had to leave, a part of him wanted her to come back. He wasn't strong enough to live alone. He needed her.

Instead of stopping her, he helped her out.

The second he was promoted, good jobs and amazing missions started coming her way. Her salary was even better than Sasha's. Sometimes he sent her flowers and gifts. One year, he assigned her and Sasha to track down the president's brain, which had gone missing in Italy. Milla had hugged him the next time they met, telling Truman that Christmas in Italy was beautiful and that she'd never complain about working through Christmas again. He had gone stark red, and with her green eyes the irony of the Christmas colors was not lost. Half the assembled Psychonauts laughed, and some joked he should blush more often in December, to make it festive.

With the admission of Razputin into the Psychonauts, Truman had an excuse to visit her.

They talked idly of many things. They caught up on how they'd been doing, and they went out to dinner together. After a while, Truman had managed to control his insane amount of blushing at the sound of her voice, but her smile would always cause him to go red. He just couldn't help it.

"Is something troubling you, darling?"

He paused. "Milla, if you loved someone but they were way, way, WAY out of your league, what would you do?"

She grinned, "Something like this," and kissed him. Time stopped and his blue eyes grew wide. She paused after pulling away. "Or this, darling." Then she French kissed him, and laughed as he stepped back, a look of pure bliss on his face. "Which one do you like?"

Truman shrugged. "Either works."


	28. MilkmanDen Mom

It's an obsession.

Constantly, all she can think of the Milkman. She breathes it, lives it, lives for it – the honor of protecting him. She works herself until every part of her body aches and the Rainbow Squirts know what to do by heart. Her mind swims with information she's painstakingly gathered, over such a short time it's insane.

All so that she could help him.

It began as curiosity. Who was the Milkman? What did he do? She searched high and low for these answers, until she discovered a glorious truth that stunned her. She knew she couldn't let him go unguarded. Not when he promised such wonders. Freedom from the censors, freedom from the lies. It was like being promised real life. How could she deny him anything?

She brought him into her own home.

She formed the Rainbow Squirts soon after. They, too, were awed by the promise of what was to come. The curiosity turned dangerous. It began a cult, a place to worship the one that might bring them freedom. She wrote down every thing she knew of him, and the Rainbow Squirts were forced to know every word of it.

The obsession started.

People that had never done anything wrong became suspects. Who knew who was after the Milkman? Any one these people could be G-men in disguise. They could be plotting, scheming, trying to uncover the truth they could not possibly be allowed to know. After a while she started giving the Rainbow Squirts walkie-talkies and putting micro-cameras in the yard flamingos. When possible, she had the smallest Squirts hide in the trash cans and such of the neighborhood.

Some times she would enter his chamber and stare at him. He looked so peaceful, so gentle lying among the milk. She knew he would be pleased at her work. She was doing extraordinary things in his name. Everything she did was for him. She lived and breathed only to serve him, to help his cause. Soon he'd awaken and all would be free.

The obsession turned to love.

All she could do was think of him. He was fragile now. He needed her protection, her help. He promised her freedom in return, and that was worth so much. Nothing she ever did was enough in her mind to really help him. She began to learn to fight. It was hard work, harder than anything she'd ever learned before. But she kept trying. Every nerve and muscle in her body was strained beyond comprehension. She thought was ready, thought she could protect the milk until it was ready, and people were ready for it.

But Raz beat her.

Tears flowed down her face as her angel left. Had she failed? Had this happened too soon or too late? She didn't know. If there was a punishment, she would accept it. Nothing compared to the knowledge that she hadn't been good enough and hadn't tried hard enough. She prayed that the Rainbow Squirts would be strong enough to help where she could not. She hoped desperately they'd gathered the right information and enough information.

Whether or not she had, she never knew.

The Milkman found her body, lifeless and cold, lying on the stone floor where the Psychonaut had left her. Her orange hair was still perfectly shaped, and her body so lithe she looked to be an angel, were it not for her death. Tenderly he reached out and touched her pale golden cheek, noting that she'd taken some heavy blows to the face. Gently, he took his top agent into his arms as they began to fade from Boyd's mind. He looked down on her body, strained until it broke in the course of battle, and whispered the words she'd died to hear.

"You did well, my love."


	29. SashaMegacensor

Author's Notes: It's official. Now that I've written this, I question my integrity as a writer. Usually I post all my updates at once, but I want to see people's reactions to this. NO MORE REQUESTS! Not on this chapter, anyway. I'm swamped. Just… go forth and review this madness.

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Why was he even DOING this, Sasha asked himself as the Megacensor chased him. "What on Earth convinced me I could train this thing?" he huffed as he dove around a corner. The ground sank beneath him and he was safe and sound as his creation ran around, roaring its fury at the world.

Sasha knew that training the Megacensor was a bad idea. But he wanted to be totally in control of everything in his own mind. That included a giant, smelly, misshapen creature who knew only a hundred words, if that. Even if it may have been easier to squish the thing into a box and throw it into the backwaters of his mind, Sasha knew that it wouldn't be the proper thing to do. That would only make the problem worse later on. Any worthwhile Psychonaut would fight this thing.

The problem was that this was not a thing. Megacensor was beginning to develop an understanding of certain things. He slowly was learning to make gestures signaling what he wanted, and he seemed to understand that Sasha would only shoot him if he was bad. He even learned Sasha's name, and speaking was hard for censors. Yet he slowly learned words and even managed a coherent sentence now and again. This made it harder for Sasha to fight him, because in a way it was like fighting a small child. A very slow child, yes, but a child nonetheless. And even though his creation was slow and dull witted, he had still been created from Sasha. He was a part of the Psychonaut.

"Sasha?" Megacensor was scared now. "Sasha?" He sat down, and, unable to locate his creator, simply cried. Shaking, he let out a howl like an animal, then listened for a response. There was none, and panic crossed his ugly features. "Sasha!"

Sasha, for his part, watched with the knowing eyes of someone who has experienced similar situations and simply let the creature cry. If it was unhealthy, so be it. There were prices to pay for interrupting lab experiments. He couldn't be expected to put a dead halt on his research every time Megacensor wanted to play. It pulled at his heartstrings to see such a large creature brought so low, but it couldn't be helped. The only way anyone learned anything was to experience something firsthand.

After a moment, Megacensor managed to form a coherent sentence for the first time since his birth. "Me miss Sasha." He cried softly, unable to understand what he'd done wrong. He'd only wanted a game of chase. "Sasha left because me no good at game."

At this point, Sasha teleported himself to a small platform off in the distance of his mind. Here he could watch his creation safely, and edge him in the right direction if necessary. He watched the Megacensor climb unto its awkwardly proportioned feet, and he watched it pace back and forth. His creation struggled to understand, within his limited self-awareness, why he had been abandoned. However, that awareness grew stronger each day, and he knew that with time, the Megacensor might be able to understand everything Sasha wanted to teach him. For now, the creature simply needed time to think.

The Megacensor knew little of who Sasha was. He knew Sasha was someone he'd hurt when he was young and didn't know better. He knew Sasha brought Dream Fluffs sometimes and that Sasha had a way with words. Sasha was soothing and kind and sometimes spoke in a language so rough in its beauty that Megacensor hung on every word. Sasha was like God to the Megacensor. Sasha could seal him away in a horrible little box where everything was dark when he angered Sasha. Sasha could release him on a mere whim, sometimes on accident. Sasha could make the sky dark or light and every color in existence. Sasha could be angry for reasons too complex for Megacensor to understand, and then Sasha would shoot at him. Sasha could change the shape of the world as the Megacensor knew it, twisting the landscape and making hundreds of wonderful and hidden things appear from seemingly nowhere. Sasha could summon playmates for his creation or leave him alone, all with no effort, no thought.

Yet this god was very mortal sometimes.

Sometimes Sasha was gloomy, and he would beg desperately for Megacensor to act 'civilized'. Some days, Sasha was scared of something that could not make sense to his creation, of some sort of 'outside world' that the Megacensor had never seen. In spite of having such awesome powers, Sasha was very frail and thin, so small he could have been held, although he preferred riding on Megacensor's shoulder. Sometimes the all powerful Sasha would let loose one or two memory vaults, and panic in a most censor-like way, tracking them down and burying them deep within the land itself.

This time, Sasha let his creation pick up the memory vault he found.

Confusion. The creature's mind worked its hardest, trying to understand that there were others out there. Other people, in a world far outside this one and very different. One of them had cared for his creator as his creator cared for him. She held him and taught him words; she sang to him and fed him. Then that one became pale and unmoving. She became silent and could not walk. One day it happened. She did not breathe, and in a way it was far more terrible than when a fellow censor died, because she stayed like that, and there was nothing to be done. Sadness. Understanding. The creation put the memory reel down, eyes wide.

His creator had a creator, and that creator was gone forever. This happened long ago, and now his creator still felt the pain that losing his creator brought. The one who had made him smart and loved him deeply was dead. Sasha, the god, had lost his creator. The thought was painful and profound. Megacensor tried to make sense of this. Then he looked around, almost reverently. The one who controlled his world and existence appeared, looking grim.

"Sasha, I sad. You sad, too, but remember me love you."

Sasha's hand twitched, and the memory reel came flying back into his grasp. He snapped his fingers, and it disappeared. He looked closely at the big, oblivious creature he'd created. He was simple; Megacensor did not understand life, death, and the agony of Sasha's mind. The creature was smart enough to grasp that he existed, and little beyond that. Thus far, any attempts to get the creature to dress right or read had been met with horrific failure. There was no doubt that this was not a bright censor.

But perhaps he understood love.

He seemed to understand loss, at least. The idea was horrifying to his creation, but he grasped it. He understood that Sasha had had someone precious taken away, and he knew that it was like a shot through the heart. Sasha smiled faintly. Finally, he'd had some success explaining himself.

Megacensor beamed with pride when he realized that he'd said and done the right thing. His creator didn't look as sad as before. That was good – Sasha looked far more attractive if he wasn't sad. No one should ever be sad, Megacensor decided. Slowly, he reached out towards the Psychonaut that had given him life. Careful, as if Sasha would disappear if he was too rough, he wrapped his fingers around Sasha's body and thumbed a few tears away from his cheek.

The effect was warm as a blanket for Sasha Nein, who leaned against his creation with not just a little guilt. He shouldn't have been so hard with Megacensor. The creature was too innocent, too young and naïve to know any better. All the other censors were of little to no intelligence. He had no one of his own kind to learn from. Sasha was his only example, his only focus in life. He just wanted to prove that censors could be made to learn things beyond their normal capabilities. He wanted to control all the things that came out of his mind. But, more than that, he wanted to prove to himself that he was capable of creating something loving.

"You've got a lot to learn," Sasha said softly. In return, his creation scooped him up into his giant hands.

Sasha's eyes were closing beyond his sunglasses, and he was beginning to lay still. Megacensor watched, fascinated. What was his creator doing? It wasn't like death. Death was when people never moved and didn't breathe. Sasha was breathing, still. But he had quit speaking. The sky grew darker, fading to forest green. Cradling his creator to him, Megacensor noticed the other censors backing off, as if he had done something wrong. They stared, pointed fingers, muttering 'no'. But that didn't make sense. He was trying to keep the creator safe. Without this man, none of them would be alive. Didn't they see that? Didn't they understand?

Megacensor knew Sasha had something called 'enemies' who wanted him dead. They wanted Sasha to never breathe or speak again. Enemies were bad people, like manias or nightmares but worse because censors couldn't find them. Enemies made many people who they didn't like die. Looking around for such people, and finding none, the mutant decided that while Sasha was like this, he should be guarded. None of these 'enemies' would get anywhere near Sasha. They would not even see him; Megacensor would crush them first. There were no mini-censors or big censors here now to help. It was just Megacensor. But he would guard Sasha, his creator, the one who could change the world with a flick of his hand. He would guard this tiny creature who controlled so much.

He would guard the one he loved.


	30. SashaLili

It was insanity. Moreover, it was illegal.

Sasha approached her with the caution of a trained professional and the attitude of a teacher. He was her mentor, almost to the degree of being a parent, but he knew that there were limits. Sasha tried to keep himself from doing anything that could even be vaguely thought of as flirting. He was Lili's friend, and tried hard to make sure they stayed friends. She was jailbait at this point.

Milla would never approve if she knew. In a way, that hurt the most, trying to keep his affection buried where no one could ever find it. Sasha knew without question that Milla would be horrified and outright disgusted at him. He'd had nightmares where she transferred him far away from Lili, where she screamed at him. The fear inside of him grew. So why, he asked himself, was there still this insane attraction?

The answer was that Lili made him feel understood. She laughed at his dry humor, and enjoyed listening to him. She did so attentively, and never failed to comprehend most of it. Lili loved like a child loved; freely and deeply. Lili would never ask Sasha to do anything. For that, he adored her. Milla wanted him to be more open. Lili wanted him.

Of course, he reprimanded himself, Lili wanted him to be like the father she never had, her own being constantly gone on missions. Sasha did his best to be a constant in her life. He gently corrected her sometimes brutal behavior, but he never told her to change. He would hold stand by her when she was scared, but he knew better than to comment on her fear. Children like Lili needed freedom. He was just along for the ride.

Oftentimes, Lili would come over to his house on weekends. The other Psychonauts called it babysitting, the price Sasha had to pay for being a top agent. Sasha couldn't tell them how fun it was to have Lili at his house. She was always interested in his experiments, and had a billion questions she wanted answered. The two would probably wind up down in the lab for hours before Lili had to leave. Each year, Lili's school put on horrific Christmas plays, which were corny and badly performed. And each year, he showed up, got a front row seat, and watched her eyes light up when she realized he was there. He loved seeing her eyes bright like that.

The truth was he loved her for the way she loved.

Lili's love was pure and innocent. She didn't want him to be anything but Sasha. She needed him, and she showed it openly. Lili needed a shoulder to cry on that would keep it secret, and she needed someone to vent to. He knew she had a hard time being friends with the people at her school. They didn't understand her. He did. He knew that beneath that body of ten years, there was a mind aged beyond belief with the horrors being a Psychonaut presented. Lili had seen a psychic terrorist shoot himself through the head at age three; she had seen an insane woman scream to people who didn't exist when she was four. She gave up on being a Psychonaut for a reason. Sasha understood. There was only so much a person could take.

Still, it was not until her mother died he truly recognized how much she needed him.

Shaky and quiet, Lili arrived on his doorstep pale as the grave. She didn't want to talk about it. She did not want anything he offered her, even a chance to wedgie him that usually would've been like Christmas for Lili's more playful side. She did not respond when questioned as to when the funeral was going to be. Instead, she sat on his couch and curled up into a little ball, unable to do much more than think and, occasionally, sniffle.

He didn't know what to do. So he awkwardly tried to hug her, wondering if Milla had any advice and if he should call her later. Then suddenly Lili was sobbing into his shoulder. Sasha was stunned. He'd never seen Lili cry like this before. Twice in as many minutes, he found himself lacking any idea how to comfort her. What was worse, he was practically holding her now, and he wasn't sure if he was even doing that much correctly.

Somehow, he and Lili wound up on the couch, curled up together. Her head was on his chest, their legs entangled and he was stroking her hair. Slowly, she stopped crying. That was an immense relief for Agent Nein, who wasn't sure anything he'd done had worked up until that point. He sighed softly. Comforting children was not his strong suit, but it was made all the worse when he had an attachment to that child.

"Sasha?" she murmured.

"Yes, Miss Zanotto?" he replied softly, running his fingers through her hair. It was soft and smelled of flowers, a stark contrast to his own smoky smell.

"I love you."

There was a pause. Then, "Miss Zanotto, please don't ever say that to me again until you're 18."

She grinned briefly. "You don't still think girls have cooties, do you?"

He tilted her chin up and smiled sadly. "No. But your father does, and he'll use their powers to bring the law down upon me in droves."

Lili moved to kiss him, but he held up his hand. She pouted, because even in this grieving state she hated it when she didn't get her way. Then her amber eyes met his harsh red ones. Sometimes they looked blood red; right now, they looked almost crimson. In them she saw a fear so great that even the mighty Agent Nein couldn't ignore it. There was the fear of losing his job, his life, and everyone's respect. It was a deep fear that had broken him inside, and anything she did right now would only break him further. She paused, then placed a quick peck on his cheek before reluctantly climbing off of him. He silently thanked God she only pecked him on the cheek.

"I'd better go."

"I love you, Lililight." His lips twitched upwards when her fists clenched tightly at the use of her rarely used and much hated first name. "Even if your father has cooties."


	31. MilkaLili

I can't describe why I like Lili.

Maybe its because she's everything I'm not. She comes out and says what she means. She dresses with a funky fashion sense I can't define. Lili is bold, and fierce. Lili is so cool, and I'm not. Every time she speaks, I feel a smile coming on and I can't hold it in. Whenever she tells Benny or Bobby to back off, I feel like I should hug her.

She's like my guardian angel. Whenever I'm sad, she's there to remind me, cynically, that I don't have it that bad. I always feel better after talking to her. When I want to go invisible and back away, Lili grabs my hand and pushes me forward. When I couldn't tell Elton how I felt, she locked me out of our cabin and told me I wasn't going back in until I'd told him.

I also can't figure out why she hangs out with me.

I'm not very sure about my words. They never sound right. So I stay quiet. It's a habit I picked up from being in a big family like mine. If I go invisible and silent, they leave me alone. Alone, I can sit and ponder. I can imagine what would happen if I was braver. But acting brave is beyond me. So why, I ask, does someone so cool and so brave want to be by my side?

No words can describe how happy I am with Lili.

She makes me feel like singing. She never comments on my shyness. She never ever asked me about my family. Lili lets things like that slide by. She'd much rather just listen to some music or something. And I like that! Who needs to talk and run around like hyperactive squirrels? I'd much rather watch TV with Lili than be outside. Outside, there's sunlight and pain and people who laugh at me. Inside, whether it be at Lili's house or camp, there's laughter and snide remarks about Agent Nein's hair as we eat pizza.

She's invited me over to her house several times – and I usually stay for weeks. It's wonderful. Lili's got such a huge house, and she and I are usually the only ones there. We never cease to entertain the neighbors. My invisibility and Lili's excellent confusion grenades make the whole summer a blast. We roast marshmallows and pillow fight. Once, we went 'Chupacabra' hunting. I don't even know what I Chupacabra is, but we went outside at dusk and did not return until eight in the morning. We played endless pranks on the neighbors until, finally, the summer drew to a close. The entire last week was endless activities, and mishaps. Swimming, throwing confusion grenades into mail boxes, and watching R rated movies. I left exhausted but smiling.

And in the end, I can't describe how much I love her; my little flower.

I don't have to. She pretty much does it for me… Let me explain that I was never good at expressing myself, so she sped up our relationship. A lot.

One day she turned to me and said, "You think I'm cool, don't you?"

I nodded.

"Good. Then you won't mind if I do this." That said, she kissed me.

It was indescribable.


	32. CrullerLinda

AN: Okay, this is short, but it's a hard couple to write. (And I wrote this while sitting in an ultra hot, dusty, smelly gym that my school 'evacuated' to during a bomb threat. That was NOT a romantic setting…)

--------------------------

He tried to tell her it was okay.

She wasn't someone who had a lot of faults, but beating herself up over the past was one of them. For hours, she'd talk about how, really, it was all her fault she'd done so many horrible things. Despite the overwhelming evidence to the contrary, she told herself it was her fault Laboto had gotten control over her. She thought it was avoidable. If she'd been smarter, she'd have swam away to the lower parts of the lake like all the other lungfish. Instead, she'd stayed, and the results had been disastrous.

The pain was never ending with her. Nothing Ford could say helped her. She was lost in her own mind. A sea of regrets washed over her. She should have fought back. Why hadn't she fought back? She was a full grown fish; she should have been stronger. What was wrong with her, she wondered as she nibbled at Ford's canoes. Why was it that she hadn't been able to fight back against the madman? The world had almost come to an end, and it was all her fault.

He told her that it wasn't her fault.

Linda wouldn't listen to him as he gently stroked her lumpy head and whispered that everyone made mistakes. Her mind was on how stupid she was. Even when he offered her tuna on rye, she didn't perk up, and usually tuna on rye would make her do somersaults. He started bringing her tuna on rye every day, but she still didn't smile. And being a Psychonaut, he could tell.

He told her jokes, he offered to help clean out the dirtier parts of the lake, and he even fed her turkey on Thanksgiving. Nothing got her out of her depression. At a loss, he tried giving her a canoe. Her heart wasn't in it when she chewed on it. He offered to go into her mind, to help clear things up. Understandably, Linda didn't want anyone in there ever again.

Finally, Ford just held her fin and told her she was a good fish.

Linda nodded, loving him for trying, but knowing he wasn't right and things would never be okay.


	33. MikhailQuentin

It had been years since Mikhail had heard from any of his camp buddies.

Maloof was the exception; Mikhail worked for him, after all. But the rest of the campers had gone their separate ways. Lili and Raz were married, and at the wedding, Mikhail had been able to talk to a few of the other campers. Other than that, and an occasional beheaded squirrel sent by Dogen, they'd all forgotten each other in the hustle and bustle of adult life. All those promises they'd made on the last day of camp were broken – all of the sobbing, whimpering promises to keep in touch. In a way, it was saddening, in another, it was vaguely amusing.

Mikhail was Maloof's bodyguard now, a job that was at once both physically and mentally challenging. He had his own room in Maloof's mansion, and it was a good life. He got to throw many, many people out windows with telekinesis. His meals were paid for by Maloof. He got the bear watching channel on his TV. Yes, the years went by in a happy haze of work, throwing people out the door (literally), and watching the bear channel.

But in spite of it all, something was missing.

He didn't know what. He had no real complaints about his life. He had a roof over his head, food to eat, and a job that let him strangle people. What more was there, he asked himself. What was it he was missing? It felt empty now. Late at night, he couldn't help but wish there was someone else there. Back at camp, there'd always been someone (usually Quentin or Benny) who would be cool with going late-night bear hunting. Now, he lived where there were no bears to hunt.

Mikhail awoke one day to find Quentin Hedgemouse sitting on his chest, grinning like a cat. Alarmed, the Russian yelped and fell off the bed. Quentin levitated over to him and yanked him to his feet, a dangerous twinkle in his eye.

"Oh man, you are going to love me for this," the levitating rock star laughed, grabbing Mikhail's arm and practically dragging him out the door. "I am a genius, if I do say so myself!"

"What on Earth are you talking about?" Mikhail yelled, stumbling. "I'm half-naked, for goodness sake!"

"And you look beautiful," Quentin said distractedly. "C'mon, man, this kind of thing doesn't happen every day. I got you the awesomest b-day in history!"

Mikhail raised an eyebrow. Quentin remembered his birthday this year? Wow, even Mikhail had forgotten it was his birthday. The sunlight glared into Mikhail's eyes and his black hair was everywhere, free from the usual constraint of his big Russian hat. Quentin laughed at the sight of it and dragged his friend down the stairs, through the living room, and out the door. The Russian man staggered to a halt, throwing up his hands to see in the early morning light.

The orange blob that was Quentin grinned fit to scare Satan and gestured to a large cage next to him. Mikhail gasped and lowered his hands, all complaints forgotten. Nearby, Phoebe was high five-ing Raz, but it was all in the background to Mikhail.

"You got me a bear?"

"That's right," Quentin laughed merrily, as if this was the best joke ever. "Oh man, you should see your face right now! But yeah, bro, we got you a bear. His name is Oscar. He's from Raz's circus. Cool, huh?"

In response, Mikhail turned to him, smiled, and hugged him close. Quentin, unfortunately, had grown very tall, and Mikhail, not so much. This resulted in Quentin being hugged around the neck and forced to lean over at an awkward angle while Mikhail squealed like a fangirl. Raz snorted and Phoebe asked, "You want us to give you some alone time?"

"Thank you, so very much, my dear friend," Mikhail gushed, clinging tighter to the redhead. "I will take good care of him and feed him bacon and let him run through the meadows and-"

"That's great, Mikhail," Quentin gasped. "But bro, I gotta breathe once in a while."

"Nonsense!" Mikhail replied, and before he knew why or how, he'd kissed Quentin Hedgemouse right in front of everyone.

Quentin was cool and tasted like coffee. Mikhail wanted more. There was no resistance to his kiss, but then he realized that they were in public. And that he had no shirt on. Mikhail felt awkward all of a sudden, very aware of the feel of Quentin's scarf against his chest. He froze.

Stunned silence as they broke apart. Quentin's cheeks were pink. Mikhail stared at him as if seeing him for the first time. His blue eyes weren't angry or disgusted, just shocked. His orange hair glowed in the sunlight. Mikhail felt like he was looking at an angel. An angel that brought bears, smelled like coffee, and sang lead vocal in a band. Quentin smiled and brushed a stray lock of Mikhail's black hair behind his ears. It was a truly tender and wonderful moment.

Then he bent over and whispered, "You know, I heard that."


	34. RazNils

They know what it is. They just won't call it love.

To them, it's not love if it doesn't start off as love. They are, after all, teenagers. To them, love is the wonderful thing where two people meet and instantly feel connected. When they met, Nils wasn't even looking directly at Raz. How could love stem from that? Raz hadn't had much interest in Nils beyond wanting someone to help him with clairvoyance.

But then came the camp dance.

Though canceled the first year due to the children having their brains removed at the time, the dance was fun. Loud music, and Milla teaching them how to dance while levitating. It had been crowded, Raz said later. That was why he kept grinding up against Nils. It wasn't that he liked the other boy. It wasn't that the sight of Nils in a tux was driving him mad or that Lili had left, mad at Raz's lack of dancing skill. It was just crowded.

He had no such excuse an hour later, when he and Nils were making out in the little nook under the Main Lodge. His hands were clutching that too-perfect blond hair and he couldn't seem to get enough. Nils wasn't sure how it happened, but he didn't want to ever stop and he didn't, accepting the warm feeling in his chest and the rough touch that was Raz.

They parted when Sasha Nein walked past. He didn't say anything, but they both knew he'd seen them and they froze. Sasha wouldn't tell anyone – he was cool like that – but they couldn't risk someone else finding them. The eleven year olds blushed, brushed grass and dirt off themselves, and left in an awkward silence. Both were very aware of how they could still feel a light tingling where they'd kissed and touched.

It was an unspoken rule that they did not speak of this. Ever. But they'd look up in the middle of a class and their eyes would lock, sapphire blue meeting emerald green. Nils felt his heart race. Raz couldn't breathe. Every time they said hi to each other, it was uneasy, as if it wasn't enough.

They didn't make it through the week. On the last day of camp, Raz finally tackled Nils. They were in the campfire area and fell into the water. The sight of a dripping wet Nils was more than the world's youngest Psychonaut could take. He kissed the other boy, hard. Nils wrapped his arms around Raz and it was just like before, only wet, cold, and, after a while, kind of slippery. They weren't thinking. Both were too focused on how hot their mouths were and how delicious the other tasted. Finally, Nils's parents called his name in the distance. Leaving a sweaty and shaking Raz alone, Nils couldn't help but feel like he was leaving something infinitely valuable behind.

It happened in the middle of December.

Raz's mission had brought him to the town where Nils lived. The blond woke up in the middle of the night to Raz's soft, whispery voice telling him that it was okay. Blushing, Nils realized he'd been crying in his sleep. Raz didn't mind. They snuggled together for a moment, Nils running his hands through Raz's dark hair. It was like stroking silk. Then the need to be together in a more intimate way kicked in and Nils kissed Raz. Raz tasted coppery. Nils groaned and wrapped his arms around his lover's neck. They sat like that until, finally, they needed to break for air.

"Wow," Raz commented. The two grinned at each other, shy about kissing because of their age but wanting to kiss again because they were in love. At that moment, Raz's cellphone went off. He looked sad. "I have to go. But if you can make it to camp next year, I'm gonna be there, okay?"

"Uh-huh," Nils grinned devilishly. "Say hi to Milla for me."

Raz snorted, bemused in spite of the situation. "Yeah, right."

That was it until next summer. Almost every day, Nils thought about camp. If he could just get there, it'd all be better. If he could just see Raz again, everything would be okay. This confusion, this strangeness, was worth it if he had Raz nearby. Raz spent all his time in between missions writing to Quentin. Sasha watched with a knowing smirk that made Raz a little embarrassed, but true to form, the older Psychonaut did not expose them.

That next summer, they didn't even bother with finding a private place. Raz had his own cabin as a perk of being a Psychonaut. Nils went there, saw him, and the next thing they knew, the two were knocking over chairs and rolling on the table, kissing and muttering 'I missed you' again and again. At that moment, they both felt something. It was some sort of mental connection. They heard each other's thoughts. They paused. Out of breath, they stared at each other. Raz had only had that feeling once before, with Lili, and then it was one sided. For Nils, this was something new altogether.

"Raz?"

"Yeah?"

"Did you feel that?" Nils whispered, as if it was a sin that couldn't be discussed any louder.

"Yeah," Raz replied, holding him close, "I did."

After twenty or so more make out sessions, this became common. It was alarming at first, but after a while they liked hearing each other's thoughts. Nils justified it by saying it was manly. It wasn't love. It was just a cool little perk to dating a guy with a powerful mind, he said. But there was a seed of doubt there now. Maybe this was something more. More than hormonal. More than just kissing and touching.

Three years passed, and they couldn't see each other.

It drove both them insane when Nils's parents told him he wasn't going to camp that next year because they wanted him to go to church camp. The next year Raz was on a save-the-world type mission and couldn't even drop by to say hi. The year after that, Raz was on a mission in Asia and Nils was spending the summer with his grandmother in Australia.

It was maddening. They were addicted to each other, and now they were being forced to go without even a glimpse of the other. They got to email each other and talk, but it wasn't the same. Raz dreamed of being able to mess up his lover's hair and all the funny moments that had stemmed from that simple action. Nils longed for Raz's touch, so totally carefree and caring at the same time. The world was dark when they weren't together. Nils began to stop attempting to date girls. Even though it made his parents nervous, he couldn't date them anymore. Not when he had Raz to worry about. (Worry about, he told himself, not love. This couldn't possibly be love. Love wasn't like this.)

At long, long last they managed to get to camp. Raz and Nils spent the night in Raz's cabin. It was so good to hear the other's thought and to know that they were right there. What started as a simple kiss turned into a passion filled night that neither would ever be able to forget.

When they wake up next to each other, they can't deny it anymore.

It may be unorthodox, it may be wrong, and it may have started out as hormones – but they love each other now, and that's what counts. Nils and Raz make eye contact and blush as the reality of what has happened hits them. So, this is love. It's not anywhere near as cheesy as it looks. Raz takes his friend's hand. They smile and Nils snuggles against him, no longer caring what anyone will say when they find out. Raz silently agrees.

They know what it is. They just won't call it love… out loud.


	35. FredMilla

"Oh my God, did I lose my mind again?" Fred asked aloud as he looked at the disco-esque room.

It was too colorful. There were rainbows that didn't have this many colors. Disco balls and flashing lights blinded him from every side. The walls were multi-colored. The couch was multi-colored. The seas of people who were dancing to the bizarre techno music were all wearing fluorescent colors. Fred felt like he was back at the asylum. These people couldn't be real. Even Sasha Nein, who was huddled in the corner like a trapped animal, was wearing more color than usual.

"Fred, darling!" Milla squealed. She was in a blue and white dress that was no less blinding than anything else in the room, but still made her stand out. She hugged him. "Oh, I'm so glad you could make it!"

"Goody." Crispin's dull voice sounded. "My murderer has come back to haunt me."

"Oh Crispin, darling, don't be a party pooper," Milla chirped. He laughed maniacally, which made Milla squeal and hug Fred closer. "Isn't he adorable?"

"Sure."

"Oh, darling, you HAVE to meet Truman," Milla said with unbridled enthusiasm. "And Lili, and of course you've met Raz, oh, and there's Compton Boole, I'm his son's therapist, oh, and there's-!"

And so it began. Fred was whirlwinded through the room at light speed. He shook hands with a dozen people and had rushed conversations with each before Milla was off like a shot, dragging him by the wrist to meet yet another friend of hers. All of them were very colorful people – Compton Boole made a cup explode right next to Crispin, who screamed like a banshee, and Truman Zanotto's daughter tried to set her father on fire.

Before he knew it, Fred was laughing happily. All these people were light hearted if not demented, and Milla's constant grinning was contagious. Everything was a pleasant whirl of color and sound.

He forgot all his troubles. Why worry? Milla was upbeat and her life made his look easy. With a smile, she guided him through some basic dance steps and laughed happily at his half-assed attempts.

"You know," Fred told her with a grin, "I think I've lost my mind." He caught one of her hands as she spun around. She grinned brightly. "And I don't want it back."


	36. DogenBobby

"Don't make my head explode, please!"

Dogen stared at Bobby boredly. His face was uncaring, not cold, but distant. His eyes twitched occasionally. Other than that, he didn't move. He held Bobby still with his psychic power. The world's rarest psychic power. One that everybody made fun of. But he'd show them. He'd show everybody, as soon as he was done with Bobby.

Transpsychosis. The ability to force energy into something until it exploded.

Bobby had always wanted this ability, but no, it was wasted on a weak, gentle little kid like Dogen!

Dogen didn't seem weak or gentle now. He seemed unbalanced, but other than that, there was nothing to him in this moment.

"Please, I-I'll do anything you want!" Bobby promised. Dogen's eye quit twitching.

"Will you buy me ice cream?"

"Any flavor," Bobby said earnestly, on his hands and knees.

"Will you help me apologize to the squirrels? They're mad at me…"

"Of course I will, Dogen old pal!"

"Will you kiss me?"

"Yeah- wait, what did you just say?" Bobby got up, released from Dogen's psychic grip but still riveted to the spot by what the younger Psy Cadet had said.

Dogen clasped his hands together and twiddled his thumbs, looking away sheepishly. He smiled faintly and blushed. Bobby was at a loss for words.

"I like your hair," Dogen muttered.

Bobby's face went purple. No one had ever complimented him like that before. He stepped closer to Dogen, and when the small blue boy didn't back up, he stepped even closer.

"Tell you what, Dogen. If you don't ever do anything that stupid again, I'll make out with you."

"M'kay."


	37. BoydGMan

The life of a G-Man is supposed to be simple.

His objective was simply to watch over the man who lived in the house. He was to record all of the man's comings and goings. He was instructed to note what times the man slept and ate, what times he scribbled on his walls and what time he sat and pondered. He was told to watch the man closely. It seemed simple.

But one day he began to watch him closer than was necessary. He began to scribble away at his notepad constantly. He noticed the way the man tilted his head, his smile, his frown, the coolness with which the man made his calculations. He became mesmerized with these movements, these routines, and after a while his day was off if he hadn't seen the man walk to his mailbox, grab the paper and run to the house, screaming in terror.

Boyd.

His name was Boyd. The man's name, which was foreign and suspicious and short, was Boyd. Once he'd discovered that, he knew he could no longer watch the man without some attachment. For now he was not watching an animal, a specimen, or an intruder. He was watching a person.

That person displayed surprising vulnerability. Oh, sure, he knew how to hide from the rest of society, but that was where his strength ended. Deep down he was an innocent, a confused man who should never have dug as deep as he did. Such a thing could happen to any civilian, but that it would happen to one so timid by nature was a disaster. That disaster wrenched at the G-Man's heart and, though he knew he shouldn't, he felt some compassion for Boyd.

It was worst when Boyd was sleeping. His eyes closed, hat off, he dozed in a chair that was nowhere near comfortable. His body, bulky compared to his watcher's, would curl up in a desperate attempt to keep some heat. He would appear to be slumbering deeply, yet the tiniest noise and he jumped up. Until that time came, however, he was so naïve looking and carefree his watcher felt tempted to….

To what, exactly? What was it that he wanted to do?

The answer was not simple. It went beyond his training, this feeling. He felt as if he would like to see that face up close, not through binoculars or peepholes, but by standing there in front of the man. He felt as if he would like to know what that old, wrinkled uniform felt like. He wanted to know how the man smelled, how his timid eyes looked up close, and how his skin felt. He knew the man took baths, but he never attempted to find a vantage point from which he could view such an event. The thought was simply horrifying. What was worse, it was tempting.

These temptations drove him over the edge one night.

He crept as close to the house as he dared, closer than ever before, closer than a G-Man had a right to. He was silent as the night that enveloped the neighborhood. His heart hammered in his chest. The others were not here, they could not see, yet he couldn't help wonder what they would say if they had seen him like this. His hands were shaking as they undid the latch on the window. He took a deep breath. There was no turning back now. He opened the window, the glass sliding back without a sound.

Dead quiet, he padded across the room on booted feet to where his subject lay, fast asleep. The moonlight streamed in through the blinds and the open window, giving everything a blue glow. He stopped right beside the man. Boyd's soft breathing was the only sound he could hear. For what seemed to be a long time, he listened to the noise and, satisfied it was slow and steady enough for Boyd to really be asleep, he reached out his hand.

His fingers brushed rough skin, and he felt the tell-tale stickiness on Boyd's cheeks. That could only mean the man had been crying. He scolded himself in his mind for not seeing that earlier and recording it. He'd been so nervous about this, so afraid someone would see his intentions, he couldn't focus. Now, here he was, touching his subject, touching Boyd, touching the one rumored to have connections to the outside.

He kneeled over, closer and closer. Did he dare touch Boyd with anything but his hands? Surely the man would wake up. Even so, he leaned in, taking Boyd's face in one hand and lifting it towards his.

Such a move was simply not a wise idea.

Boyd shoved his off with surprising speed and agility. His hands wrapped around the G-Man's throat and he pressed the watcher to the ground. Then he paused. The G-Man's eyes were closed. Thin trails of water leaked out of his eyes as he lay there, not even trying to fight back or flee. He looked harmless. Boyd settled for pinning the man by the shoulders.

"Who are you?" he demanded of the creature that had broken into his house.

"I am no one," the G-Man replied softly, sadly. "No one and nothing. I do not exist."

Boyd's rough, calloused hand turned the blue-skinned man's face towards him, to better examine it. Carelessly, he knocked the hat off in a single motion. A dark ocean of black, silky hair cascaded onto the G-Man's terrified face. He looked so beautiful in the moonlight, his eyes the only color in an endless world of blue. Boyd thumbed away a tear as his watcher waited anxiously for something to happen.

Their lips connected, hesitantly, shakily. Boyd felt a shock go down his spine and the G-Man let out a gasp of ecstasy. They both paused, uncertain, before the G-Man timidly kissed Boyd on the cheek. Boyd ran a hand through the black hair that had been hidden to him for so long.

"We should not be doing this," the G-Man noted sadly.

Boyd nodded. "I don't want you to get into trouble. The cows could trample you, you know. They're stronger than they look."

His watcher nodded, not confused by this statement at all. Slowly the two untangled their bodies and the G-Man put his hat on once more. Boyd opened the door for him. The G-Man stopped in the doorway, turning slightly. Their eyes locked. He bit his lip. He could not do this. He could not leave his precious subject now that they had done so much together. But Boyd's eyes were understanding and compassionate. He did not hold it against the other man; what had happened or that it had to end so soon. It was simply too much to bear.

The G-Man reached over and kissed Boyd chastely on the cheek, before departing. In the blink of an eye, he was gone. Silence prevailed for both of them as they went back to their routine spots; G-Man, to his post, to continue watching, and Boyd, to his chair, to continue sleeping. Blue fingers shook as he touched his lips, amazed by his own audacity. Boyd's large, yellow fingers massaged his cheek as he smiled.

For the moment, this would simply have to be enough.


	38. BennyMaloof

AN: One of my few works that does not have a theme to it.

Oh, and a side note to the person who requested this: I write every single pairing people request, no matter how long it takes me to do so. Remember that next time you overload me with requests… and don't worry, I'll have the others you requested done very soon. Although I usually update in bunches, I saw this request an hour ago and wrote it out in one sitting, because you seemed rather... enthusiastic about reading it and this was the most appealing to me of all your suggested pairings.

------------------------

"Benny."

"Maloof, my pal, how _are_ you?" Benny grinned in a way Maloof didn't trust as he gestured to the chair across from him. "Please, sit down."

"Hmph."

Benny smirked and crossed his legs under the table, clasping his hands together. The sunlight streamed down on the quaint Paris café, the birdsong audible over the chatter of their fellow patrons. Twenty seven year old Maloof Canola sat rigid in his chair, brown hair still in that same style as when they were children. His attire, however, had changed drastically; the black Armani suit he was wearing made him look intense. Benny's hair looked like a curly mop atop his head, and his well worn leather jacket further deepened his sleazy look.

"There's no need to be so hostile, Maloof. We're both businessman here."

Maloof rolled his eyes. "I hate to say this to you, Benny, but my cell phone costs more in a month than you make in a year."

Benny didn't seem daunted by this. Instead, he switched the subject. "Heard you're getting married. Miracles do happen, eh?"

Maloof smiled in spite of himself. "Yeah, well, she is like my own little miracle, Benny. I can only hope you'll be so lucky." He looked Benny up and down. "Then again, for the sake of the female population, maybe I shouldn't wish that."

"Maloof, you need to lighten up a little!" Benny sighed. "Sheesh, here I am trying to congratulate you on finding an awesome girl, and you're acting like I'm dirt. That's so Bobby-ish I'm havin' a flashback."

Maloof paused. The waitress came by and handed them menus. Benny was staring with unnecessary interest at his napkin. When he glanced up, Maloof's expression had softened considerably.

"That _was_ kind of uncalled for. Sorry, Benny."

"Eh, it didn't mean anything!" Benny said dismissively, waving a hand. "It's probably just some weird manifestation of pre-wedding jitters. How you holdin' up?"

"I'm alive."

Benny nodded, then paused, propping an elbow on the table and leaning forward. His voice was low. "T-To tell ya the truth, Maloof, I want your advice on something… Something romantic."

Maloof quirked an eyebrow at this, and, once the two had ordered their coffee and it was brought to them with lightning speed, he leaned across the table with one-track-mind focus. Benny was kind of a friend. And romance was something where the more advice a person had, the better. He gave Benny's words his full attention.

"See, Maloof, I'm bi, and there's this guy I like, but he's straight and…" Benny trailed off to stare into his coffee. "I don't think he'd look my way even if he was gay. We're from totally different planets. I know there's no way I stop loving him, but is there any way I can ask him about, y'know, whether or not he's straight?"

Maloof sat back, looking thoughtful. "That's an extremely delicate topic for some guys, Benny. It depends on your timing, for the most part."

Benny blinked. "What the hell does that mean?"

Maloof had been expecting that response, and did not miss a beat. He'd given a lot of advice over the years (some of it unwanted). He knew how to say this so that even Benny of all people could understand. Absently he brushed his hair back into its softly curled, flipped out at the sides helmet that he'd grown so fond of.

"You have to make sure it's pretty casual. Don't make it sound like a big deal. Wait til you guys are hanging out, goofing around, and ask a couple of questions before you drop the big one. If he's not, then laugh it off. If you ask 'are you gay' seriously, most men will freak out on you. It's best to say it kind of like you're asking what time it is."

Benny paused. Then he asked, "I get what you're saying, but what's wrong with just saying 'are you gay'?"

Maloof placed a hand on his temple and sighed. Schooling Benny in love – or anything else, for that matter – was harder than it sounded, and it already sounded hard. After a moment in which he collected his thoughts, he managed a response.

"Because it's rude, Benny. Some guys take offense with that sort of thing."

Benny rolled his eyes. "If I asked you if you were gay, would _you_ take offense?"

"No, because I'm pretty sure I'm straight at this point," Maloof replied idly. "But not all guys are that sure about it."

"How sure _are_ you?" Benny asked slyly.

Maloof blinked.

There was a smile creeping unto Benny's features and a look in his eyes Maloof didn't trust at all. They sipped their coffee for a few minutes in quiet while Benny let the question hang in the air, unanswerable and tempting fate. Maloof couldn't meet his eyes.

Finally he did, and his cheeks turned an unhealthy shade of orange at the way Benny's tongue was slowly curling around the coffee cup's rim. He watched, transfixed, as Benny's tongue swirled around a marshmallow and brought it inside that tiny, purple mouth. His eyes seemed to widen then narrow as he let his attention zone in on the sight with aforementioned one-track-mind focus. He wanted to look away from that sinfully sexy uncombed hair and those perfectly demonic, pointed teeth that lay at the sides of Benny's mouth.

"Are you gay?" Benny asked quietly.

Maloof had never been so grateful no one else there spoke fluent English as he stammered, unable to answer. _I thought I wasn't…_

"You know, if you're having problems figuring it out, _I_ can always help," Benny leaned forward, his hand sliding over Maloof's.

In spite of himself, Maloof replied, "I'd like that, thanks."


	39. QuentinRaz

Author's Note: Well, someone requested this a while back and I just never got around to it. Then another person requested it today and I realized I needed to write this soon. Here you go, and how 'bout some reviews, people? Just a thought...

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"Raz, bro, you definitely need a hug." Quentin greeted Raz with the aforementioned hug and stepped back to let his fellow Psychonaut in.

If there was one thing Raz hated about being a Psychonaut, it was the close quarters they lived in while in training. Six people per room, and the rooms were very tiny, with not much more than a foot between each of the three bunk beds. It had seemed cool at first, reminding him of summer camp. Now Raz was ready to blow a fuse. He was so sick of being near so many people, four of which weren't even from America and barely spoke English.

The building was three stories high, and like most Psychonaut facilities, made of brick that had psitanium in it. The wooden interior had been cooling and relaxing at the beginning of summer. Now, in mid winter, it was too cold to go anywhere without his boots on. And everywhere he went, there was some Junior Agent glaring at him. He was Razputin Aquato, the world's youngest full fledged Agent who was treated with much the same respect as a Senior Agent. He was the 'legendary' boy who'd earned all his merit badges in one day. They hated him, all these people, and their eyes followed him everywhere.

He was so sick of this life. Were it not for his missions and Quentin, he would have given it all up. The law was the law; he had to go through two years of Academy training like everyone else, and that included bunking with everyone else. He was sick of it all! He wanted his own room, he wanted personal space, he wanted some time alone where he could think and not pick up every one else's stray thoughts!

Raz plopped down on his bunk, exhausted. He closed his eyes and placed a hand over his eyes. This was all beginning to be too much to take.

Had Sasha and Milla forgotten him? At first, they emailed every day, but as the months went by they had almost quit contacting him altogether. Hw never was on any of the same missions they were. He wondered if it was easy to forget about him. He never forgot about them no matter how hard the mission. Every time he closed his eyes, like now, he could see Sasha's lean, faintly smiling face and Milla's broad, beaming one. He missed them more than he thought he would. At first, they'd just been super-star Psychonauts whom he admired, but now they were his friends. And his friends had forgotten him.

Hey, at least they remembered to write once a month. That was more than he could say for his father. On his birthday there had been a gift, and a card that said 'Hang in there, son'. Other than that, there had been nothing. Raz couldn't understand why his father was ignoring him. Even though the only phones in the building were in the hallway, Raz called almost daily. Well, he used to, anyway. After four months it became clear his father was not going to answer his cell phone no matter how many messages Raz left.

Lili never contacted him.

The knowledge had ripped at his heart at first. Now, Agent Aquato was numb inside. He told himself she probably never really cared for him. It was just a summer romance. He hadn't meant anything to her, he told himself, so why bother thinking about her? She was off in Rio De Janeiro last he heard, with some fifthteen year old, blond, pretty boy suck up of an Agent that Raz knew through reputation. In fact, he knew all three of the boys she'd gone through that way. In spite of his resolve to move on, he knew their names and where they were from. They were all suck-up Agents trying to get to the top any way they could. It hurt him to think that she'd chosen them over him. He'd never tried anything like that. After rescuing her father, he'd spent the next day filing out paper work for his application here…

Groggy, he grabbed one of the thick, itchy blankets provided for the room and pulled it over himself. In twenty minutes, he'd have to rise for yet another torture, but until then he could try to rest.

Try to rest and forget.

But the truth, he knew, was that he'd never forget this place. The mocking sneers of older children who he outranked, all the kids who threw levitated food at him, all the long physical endurance training sessions that robbed him of his energy, and most importantly the way they whispered 'circus freak' in the halls on his first day. He knew he could only forget, for a moment, in his dreams, where they could not attack him or laugh at him. Only sleep would save his sanity.

And oh, how little sleep he got on this school's horrible schedule! Waking up at six thirty and going to bed at midnight was not his idea of fun. This was the only lull in his day where he could get a nap – the time in between the end of Basic Psychometrics and dinner.

Why was he even trying anymore, he wondered as Quentin left the room. Why was he working so hard? Why didn't he just transfer out of here? He pondered over the answer while his body shifted on the rough mattress, trying to find a position that was only mildly painful. There wasn't any reason to stay, really.

Except for Quentin.

Quentin backed Raz up in every combat practice, stood up for Raz in every argument, and threw telekinetically lifted food at anyone who tried to throw food at Raz. He tried to make Raz feel better. He told Raz Sasha and Milla were busy, not ignoring him. He told Raz his father was a little bit crazy anyway and Raz was better off without him. He left the room so Raz could take his nap in peace. Quentin was always there, constant, everlasting, and willing to talk. Quentin never laughed or sneered at him. Quentin always had an understanding look and a gentle, reassuring touch.

Raz stared at the bunk above him. He wished that Quentin had stayed in the room. He wanted to feel the hippie's arms around him again. He wanted to be loved again and spoken to like he was a person, not just an Agent. His eyes closed against his will. He was so tired of this life, of trying to sleep, of working here.

A tear threatened to slide down his cheek. Immediately Raz brushed it back. Then he pulled the covers over his head and reached for his wrist, where a bracelet lay waiting. Once upon a long ago time, it had been a symbol of friendship. Now it was valued for its sharp metal clip that would scratch his skin but never cut it. Raz tried not to think of Quentin when he did this. It wasn't as hard as you'd imagine. After all, there were so many other things to think about in the hell hole.

He pressed the cool metal tip to his skin. This habit had started so innocently, with a simple fall. The tip scratched his arm from the wrist almost to the elbow, and for a single moment it seemed he could go on. And as far as Raz was concerned, this wasn't really a problem. He only did this once, twice a day tops. But a part of him objected that it used to be once, twice a month, tops. Time here was chipping away at his willpower, his sanity. This was no way to go on and he knew it, yet he didn't even attempt to stop.

A part of him was hopeful one day the metal would break the skin, and he'd be dead and gone before anyone noticed.

Only it was too late, because Quentin had noticed via clairvoyance, and the orange haired boy stormed into the room, regardless of people who shouted for him to quit stomping. Reaching out one orange-gloved hand, he yanked away the blanket. Raz stared at him like a little kid caught robbing the cookie jar. Silence prevailed for a moment. Raz's green eyes told Quentin everything he needed to know. He was a broken man even though he was only eleven, and he needed help. Rather than question the almost telepathic nature of this connection, Quentin extended his hand.

"Give me the bracelet, Raz."

Raz started to object. This was the one thing he had yet to lose at this horrible place. But Quentin's blue eyes burned with fear and anger that Raz would even attempt this, let alone keep doing so. So the world's youngest Psychonaut held out the bracelet, which Quentin pocketed before sitting down on Raz's bed.

For a moment, neither of them knew what to say. For Raz it was as though he'd awakened from a deep dream. Now he was awake. The horror of what he had done sunk in, and he turned to Quentin with a look of such desperation the other boy could do naught but embrace him. The contact was warm and soothing. Quentin rocked back and forth slowly, letting the other boy calm down at his own pace because in spite of it all, they were boys, and boys have limits as to how much they can talk about their feelings.

Finally Raz looked at him with pleading eyes. "How am I going to get through this shit?" he asked with a glimmer of the old Raz's energy.

Quentin pressed his forehead to the other boy's and whispered the one word Raz truly needed to hear.

"Together."


	40. EltonMaloof

AN: I'm updating one chap at a time, as I write them, for a while, because I've been inspired and I'm going to get as many done as possible so you people don't have to wait loooooong periods of time for one request. I shall not fail you!

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"Th-thanks for extending Mikhail's protection to me, Maloof," Elton stammered. "B-but…"

"But what?" Maloof demanded, crossing his arms. This moment was essential to his plan.

The two stood in the boy's cabin, alone for the moment. Having been rebrained only ten minutes prior, Maloof had noticed how shaky Elton was and decided now was the time to make his move, when there was no one else around. It was truly a perfect atmosphere. The time was right to see if his plan could work. It seemed as if they were the only people in the world, chosen to be together under the full moon light. The fear in Elton's eyes was strangely alluring, and Maloof wasted no time in moving to block the door.

"I can't pay for any protection. I don't have any money," Elton explained, wringing his hands. His hair looked so temptingly soft in the faint, golden light of the cabin.

Maloof strolled over to him casually, his hands in his pockets and his eyes aglow with mischief. Elton began to fidget nervously. It was all according to plan as far as Maloof was concerned.

"There's more than one way to pay," Maloof said slyly.

Elton's eyes grew wide. "Nuh-uh, you can't have my comic books!"

"Really?" Maloof asked in genuine shock. He hadn't expected the spineless, chicken-of-the-sea boy to stand up for himself. That hadn't been in any version of the plan, ever.

Elton was still shaky, but he nodded. "No comic books. They're too valuable!"

"Well," Maloof edged on, gently, "What else do you have?"

Elton's courage vanished as suddenly as it came. His eyes darted to and fro, his sweaty palms clasped together, almost as if in prayer. He did not look directly at Maloof.

"I… I don't know…"

Maloof took a step closer, feeling bolder than he ever had before in his entire life. He placed a hand on Elton's shoulder and moved even closer, closing almost all the distance between them. Their chest's brushed and Maloof could have sworn he felt Elton's heart beat speed up in that short time. A warm breeze washed over them, the symphony of crickets outside their orchestra. Maloof grinned wolfishly, in spite of what his original plan said about acting cool and collected.

"Well, you could always find _another_ way to pay for it."

"Y-you… you don't m-mean?!" Elton gasped in shock as Maloof kissed him gently on the neck.

"Yeah, pretty much that's where I was going with this." Maloof smirked at Elton's stunned expression.

"But why would you want me? I'm the chicken of the sea, remember?"

Maloof chuckled. "Yeah, but I'm just a chicken, period. We go together."

"I-if you say so, then, um, I guess I'd, uh, kinda like to be your boyfriend."

Maloof grinned.

Hallelujah, the plan had worked!


	41. ClemCrystal

AN: It was really hard to get the mood right for this one. Oh well, I tried.

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They tried.

Oh, how they tried to make the others understand how wonderful the world could be. They explained themselves endless times, always with smiles. They cheered and rhymed and poured their hearts into it this year, trying desperately to bring a smile to someone's face… anyone's face would do.

They tried to block out the pain.

The refusal came, as it always did. The refusal and the laughter and the snide remarks, the mockery and the glares. Those things chipped away at their resolve slowly but surely. The insults came, and with those, the pushing and shoving. No one understood. No one tried to understand. They tried to accept it, for a time.

The day came that they couldn't try anymore.

Any effort they made was thrown back into their faces. No more. Crystal cracked first. She couldn't try anymore, and cried because she knew she could not. Clem comforted her, but he was breaking, too. There was no reason to stay here, in this cold world that tried to destroy them whenever they tried to see the goodness in life. There was no reason to keep going on. There was no one tying them down here.

They only had each other, and they tried to believe that in the afterlife, that would be enough.

Like condemned children, they marched up to the roof and tried not to think too hard about the coming event. They tried to enjoy the sunset, as any couple might. They tried not ignore the strange feeling welling up in their hearts. They were ten now, so it was natural things we going to be a little different, but they never expected to feel almost loving towards one another.

Then again, they tried to reason, it made sense. When you trusted someone enough to die alongside them, you had to love them.

Clem tried to ignore the tears brewing in his eyes, but the thought of how the world had turned its back on Crystal sickened him. Crystal tried to ignore the sick feeling in her stomach, but the thought of Clem dying was like a shot through her own heart.

"Well," he said bravely, "See ya on the other side, Crystal."

"Don't be late, Clem," she said softly.

They tried to ignore their feelings, but the moment proved too great. The two suddenly clung to each other in one last hug. A few tears made their way down Clem's cheek as he reached into his backpack, smiling faintly.

"I though you might need this," he muttered, embarrassed. In his hand he held her baby blankie that Bobby had taken from her earlier that day.

"Oh, Clem," she gushed, kissing him on the cheek, "You're the best friend a girl could ask for!"

"Thanks." He held out the vial of poison to her. "I know it's polite for ladies to go first, but, um, maybe we should try this at the same time."

"You're sweet," she replied, holding her blanket to herself. "On three?" He nodded.

"One… Two… Three."

Then the two of them gagged and their bodies went limp, tumbling off the roof.


	42. BoydFred

AN: You people wanna know the secret to my genius? It's this http//ww w.devi iation/3271 1524/ without the spaces, played on a loop for two hours straight.

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The guard knew that guarding Fred was important.

Fred was a victim of the government. In a better world, he'd have received awards for his services in the war, fighting against the invisible men. He deserved a medal, an award, some protection against the invisible enemy soldiers that ravaged his mind. But the high ups in the government didn't want the public to know about the war against invisible men, or that invisible men existed. So this man was thrown into the asylum, as if he were unimportant.

Boyd knew better.

Boyd knew from the moment the man began talking about the French and the cows that this man had dug into the conspiracy around them, just like Boyd himself had. He knew that look, the look of knowing too much, and he felt a kinship with the younger man. The government had twisted his mind so much he barely knew he was. Whenever Boyd could, he slipped in an encouraging word to the man. The cows were losing their power, he knew, but if Fred heard him, he didn't show it.

Whoever it was who had wrecked Fred's mind had done a very good job, Boyd realized. It must have been very important to them that his mind be erased totally.

He did not understand how far gone Fred was until he heard a crash one night. When he arrived in the inner sanctum, abandoning his post even though he knew he shouldn't, he was shocked. Fred was throwing himself against the wall, chairs, rocks, anything and everything, screaming something about not wanting to be the war anymore. The screeching was incoherent and Boyd knew he would never forget that sound, so scared and senseless.

He grappled with Fred's flailing body until he finally managed to pin the man to the wall. After an hour, the screaming stopped and Fred collapsed, motionless except for the deep breaths that wracked his whole body. Boyd carefully released him, pausing to see if the other man would go berserk again upon release. When this was not the case, he reached into his jacket and found a bottle of genuine, normal, non-exploding milk. He opened the bottle and held it to the man's lips.

Fred stared at him through glazed eyes before the idea sank in. Then it became very important to him that he drink every single drop.

It was the only thing that wasn't water or bread that he'd had in a long time. And it perked him up considerably, so that he was smiling when the bottle was empty. Milk is just that cool. Boyd smiled down at him, happy to see that the cows had done something for the side of good for once.

"Are you going to be alright?" Boyd asked in his usual paranoid voice.

Fred nodded. "Yeah."

Boyd blushed slightly. "Then I shall resume my post-"

"Boyd?"

"Yes?" he turned away, suddenly unsure of himself.

"Once we get out of this, you wanna stay at my place?" It seemed so important to ask that question before it was too late.

"That would be…. Agreeable," Boyd said after a moment, smiling giddily.

He glanced behind him. Fred grinned back, coyly. The two looked like a couple of idiots to Crispin, who rolled his eyes at the two. They didn't care. Fred was getting a good look at the one guy in this asylum who still had some niceness in him. He muttered 'thanks' again as the guard left to resume his post, smiling slightly in the night.

Boyd felt very important.


	43. VernonBenny

AN: I know this one is short, but I couldn't get this idea out of my head. Besides, it's funny… and you people never review, so it's not like I have any idea what you guys like anymore. :(

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Benny had been ordered to guard Vernon. It hadn't seemed like a bad idea.

After all, it wasn't anyone important, strong, cool, smart, or otherwise threatening that he was guarding. It was Vernon. Vernon Tripe, king of dullness, who couldn't beat up a butterfly to save his life. What was the worst thing that could happen? Would Vernon try to bore him to death? Ha! He could take it.

At least he thought he could, until he realized he didn't have his earplugs.

Horror gripped at his senses, destroying his mind in a blast of fear. This was the worst thing that could ever happen to him, ever! Frantically, he dug into his pockets, but no, there was nothing! The search was fruitless and his heart began to pound in chest, his breathing heavy as he struggled not to have a panic attack. How could he NOT have a panic attack, though? His world was falling to pieces all around him in a horrible frenzy of monotone!

Why God, why? What had Benny ever done to deserve this? He fell to his knees and prayed God would strike him deaf, blind, anything so that some of the evil that was Vernon would not register with him.

Then Vernon began singing.

"100 bottles of beer on the wall, 100 bottles of beer. Take one down, pass it around, 99 bottles of beer on the wall. 99 bottles of beer on the wall, 99 bottles of beer-"

Benny couldn't take it.

The sound of that horrible voice was like a chorus of worms slowly drilling into his brain at midnight. He knew he had to act fast, or else his sanity would be lost forever. He tried to think. It hurt a lot, yet not as much as the song did. Finally, he came up with an idea. His mom always said it would happen one day, and it did.

He tackled Vernon and kissed him.

Ah, silence was golden.


	44. NilsMaloof

He'd always been attracted to girls.

It wasn't a cover up, as many jealous boys whispered. He really did like girls that much. What was there not to love? They were all beautiful in some way, and their personalities all had that little zing that made them different from boys. That zing, as he called it, was impossible to resist. It drew him to them like bees go to flowers. He loved everything about them, the hairstyles, the clothes, the cute little voices, and even girls like Lili had something special in his mind.

So imagine his confusion when he started thinking about Maloof.

At first, it was innocent comparison between Maloof and the girls of Whispering Rock. After all, Maloof was the most girly out of all the PsyCadets. He was chubby cheeked and had soft, feminine curves. He didn't show any signs of growing out of them, either, not at age sixteen, when he shouldn't been growing out of them. He was simply so girly Nils couldn't help but draw comparisons and laugh at his girly friend.

His blue eyes always held pure joy when he made those jokes.

Everyone laughed at Maloof, when Mikhail wasn't around to crack his knuckles threateningly. Everyone talked about what a cute little girl Maloof was growing up to be. It was an inside joke with them. It didn't seem unusual at all to dwell on it. After all, it _was_ an unusual joke even among the Psychonauts. But the more he thought about it, the more it made sense, before Maloof had grown up to be one of those boys that got manicures and wore pink.

Nils would never be caught dead wearing pink. How Maloof managed to stand it was beyond him. Hey, whatever, Maloof was cool in his own way and he could do his own thing for all Nils cared.

That was when it started.

He began to think of Maloof as cool. But not cool in the mainstream, retro way or in the stand out, individual way. Maloof was cool in a way that was almost forbidden. His hair was girly and curled, primmed and permed to perfection. His eyeliner was never smudged, and his infamous pink jacket was ironed every night. Maloof wore things that would have Nils's parents dual heart attacks, and he wore these things on a regular basis. It was so stunning to Nils that he would even dare do such a thing. It was forbidden, looked down upon, laughed at, yet he envied the other boy.

His eyes held total jealousy of him in that regard.

Maloof's parents were understanding and accepting of all that their son was. They didn't care about his clothes or his hair, so long as he was happy. Nils wished his parents were like that, instead of being the homophobes that they were. If he'd tried to go to school with styled hair, he'd have been told he was a fag and shipped up to his room. They had long ago established his hair would look as they wanted it, nothing else. Maloof's parents would let him get away with everything and anything, so long as it made him happy.

Somewhere in thinking these thoughts, Nils decided he'd like to get to know Maloof better.

This, too, started out innocently. A few trips to each other's houses to play video games, a couple shared pizzas, things like that. The gestures were meant only in friendship, on both ends. One day they had a dirt clod fight, which Nils's parents approved of due to its rugged, boyish nature. But they did not approve of Maloof, of how high Maloof's voice was or how pink that pink jacket was. Nils told them Maloof just didn't want to hog _all_ the ladies for himself, so he wore pink. The excuse seemed to work, and the two resumed their hanging out.

Nils was not sure when it happened; when he began to really focus in on Maloof's fine features. And oh, they were fine! Nothing like what he was used to seeing in girls. The gently sloped cheeks were a tad more rugged than a girl's, and the eyelashes were not as long. His eyes sometimes would drift lower before he caught himself. He couldn't help it, he told himself, everyone compared Maloof to a girl.

The time came when he could no longer deny it.

He really wanted to know how different Maloof would feel from a girl… in bed.

The thought horrified him at first, yet at the same time it was amazingly appealing. To see that golden-brown skin laid out before him, to stroke it and see if Maloof made female grunts, would be paradise. To run his hands through that soft, girlish hair would make his life complete and to go deeper would be the ultimate highpoint of his existence. He wondered how Maloof felt towards him.

It didn't matter. Even though he came to terms with his attraction, he knew there were too many obstacles in his way for this to ever come to pass. Maloof had a boyfriend. Nils never stole anyone's girlfriend, and in that regard, boys and girls would be treated the same by him. If Maloof really loved this guy, then that was that and he'd have to get over it eventually. The keyword in that sentence is 'eventually'. Some days he looked over at Maloof's slightly sweaty face, and he knew Maloof had been at his boyfriend's house, and he wondered if Maloof and his boyfriend had been doing it before Maloof came over. The jealousy raged within him, quieted only by the knowledge Maloof was happier this way.

His parents were the major issue. They were homophobes to the inth degree. Every sentence he spoke, every motion he made was cause for them to question his sexuality. He knew they would never love him if they found out he loved another of the same gender. He knew that one careless word, one wrong move that suggested he loved Maloof, and they would forbid him from ever seeing the other boy again.

So Nils watched, waiting, through blue eyes that never held any joy.


	45. LabotoOleander

Author's Note: IMPORTANT! As of now I will not write a second chapter for any pairing. I'm sorry, but I get overwhelmed with these as it is (since I'm a procrastinator by nature) and it's the school year. Please understand that I am still taking requests, just not for pairings already done in this fic. Thank you for your time.

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Laboto had always had a bit of an obsession problem.

People, places, things. It all began as a child, when he killed a cat with a pepper shaker, back in the third grade. All of a sudden he could only think of dead cats and pepper. His room became a pit of smell, spice and decay that he carefully cultivated and reveled in. All he could talk about, all he could think about, was centered around the two.

His mother made him get rid of the cats, because she was allergic to the moldy fur. And he obeyed because his mother was cool and let him have weird hobbies if he wanted. But the need welled up for something else to examine, think about, research. Something exotic and wild.

That was how he got hooked on cutting things in half. Bugs, small animals, Jello. It was wonderful. Fascinating. But it didn't last. So he found something else to do. And something else after that, and that, until he had a stream of varied and rare hobbies.

It was rare that he didn't get what he wanted.

His father had walked out of them, but Mrs. Laboto swore she would never let her son be poor or not have what the other kids had. Everything had always been given to him, always. So when he developed, of all things, a tooth obsession, his mother paid his way through dental school. It was all handed to him on a silver platter.

But the law hadn't seen it his way when teeth 'went missing' from some of his patients.

He swore to himself he would never be denied again. That was when the brain thing started. Soon he would have whatever he wanted, if he harnessed the power of the brain. In the brain lay all the powers of the universe. If he could only crack one open and look inside… That was when the Philippine police had shipped him back to the US. When they found out about this, and his old charges? One murder, five disorderly conducts, six malpractice charges. How did he plead? Insane! His dear mother backed him up.

And for so long he worked to prove his worth to the asylum. He would rise again. He would find more brains, he would, but first he had to get to the top. Once there he wasted no time in exploring the many uses of the mind, the things a brain could power. The inmates cowered before him until one by one they were decranialized and their bodies thrown into the lake.

In all of his obsessions, he had always been alone.

But Oleander, there was a man who _understood_! He had so many ideas, even better than Laboto's own! He had weapon designs and a plan, a plan for a new world order where height, weight, and race wouldn't matter, only the strength of a brain. He was just brilliant, wonderfully brilliant!

Laboto had never had someone to talk to about his obsessions. He'd never had someone to share ideas with and plan with. No one had ever examined brains with him before or taken him so seriously. Laboto was amazed at how it felt. He didn't have to hide anything or pretend to be something he wasn't. He didn't have to lie about anything. Oleander took it all in stride.

He felt the obsession kick in. The craving. He began watching Oleander's movements, the way he walked and waved his arms when mad. Mis-matched eyes followed the tiny man every second they were together, drinking him in like a ray of sunshine. He was so powerful and energetic, despite being short. He was always thinking, always planning, always doing something. He was wonderful. He didn't stop for anything or anyone.

Even though Laboto was younger than him, Oleander was always respectful. He called the mad dentist 'Doctor' and 'Sir' and made an effort to get Laboto's through opinions on everything. Such consideration, such valor. Laboto hadn't felt this happy since his first killed cat. He smiled and he laughed. Sometimes he even caught himself flirting with the younger man, though of course Oleander was so work focused he didn't notice yet. Laboto complimented him and constantly was there for him, trying to get him to see that a love connection had been made.

He hadn't yet gotten the man's attention yet, though.

But it doesn't matter. He always has an obsession and he always gets what he wants.

It's only a matter of time.


	46. BobbyBoyd

Author's Note: IMPORTANT! As of now I will not write a second chapter for any pairing. I'm sorry, but I get overwhelmed with these as it is (since I'm a procrastinator by nature) and it's the school year. Please understand that I am still taking requests, just not for pairings already done in this fic. Thank you for your time.

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Why is he here?

Why, Bobby asks himself, is he here? He doesn't want to be a Psychonaut but it's all he can do where he'll get to use his powers. He doesn't want to go on stage and get the diploma when no one really cares, when no one is paying attention because he's the last person to graduate and they want this over with. He could just get his badge and uniform through the mail. He could be sitting at home now, half-drunk and staring at the dinky Christmas tree lights. So why isn't he?

…Because this is a place to be.

This is a place to be and the badge is something to take, a motion to perform before he moves on to the next motion. Then the reception, the next place to be, the next actions to perform. Things to do, to fill the void of time. Words to speak mechanically to his peers. Thanks, hope you get the assignment you want, Merry Christmas to you, too. Actions, words, motions. Just to take up time.

Because time has been catching up to him.

Holy crap, he's eighteen. He's got his own apartment and a paycheck, a room that's just his, a car. It all seems so surreal. Only yesterday he was shoving Raz into the lake while Benny laughed. Now Raz and Lili are married and Benny is a thousand miles away. Time has suddenly rushed up to meet him. Gone are those carefree days as a kid, gone is the laughter and excitement.

Motions. He takes the diploma. He attends the reception. He eats. He speaks. He is not here. In his mind he is a million miles away, he is somewhere, where when this ends he won't have to go home to an empty apartment without a single friend or family member to speak to on this, the most 'joyous' of days.

He isn't sad. It's just so empty, so wrong, so hard to swallow that when he gets home, there won't be anything to do. No presents. Nothing. It's so odd. Where did life go? Where did those lazy summer days go? Did they run away when he was in middle school, high school, Psychonauts Academy? When did life become a series of motions and words done to take up more time until something better came along?

Bobby catches a glimpse of himself in the buildings he is walking past. He walked here, as his car is broken, cheap little thing. His teeth are under control at long last. His hair is kind of long but no longer poofy. His skin is several shades lighter, from what he doesn't know. He barely recognizes himself. When did all this happen? When did he turn so adult, so pristine? It doesn't make sense. He could swear, yesterday he was talking to the freed and cured inmates of Thorney Towers as he tried to catch a fish with telekinesis.

He was talking to Boyd. He was talking and being stupid, being an ass, being a kid, loving it.

God, where had the time gone? Where had it slipped? When had he gotten so serious he couldn't have light, meaningful conversations about everything with people he'd only known for a short time? To be a kid again and to be so trusting and yet so deep. As an adult, you only had it one way.

But he remembered it well. He remembered talking about a lot of stuff with Boyd, who simply nodded and occasionally gave soft-spoken advice. Bobby remembered, especially, the awkward, hesitating conversation about his sexuality. He'd been so scared to talk about the fact that he liked boys, and yet he trusted the older man, he really did, and in an hour his parents would take him away anyway. So he said it. He liked boys. He almost began to cry because he was a freak.

And Boyd hugged him.

It was such a simple gesture, but it fixed so much. It helped ease the fear, the childish anxiety about being different. Bobby missed the man so much. He'd never thanked him properly for that. After that moment, Bobby had never been at odds with himself for who he was. After that, everything had been as it was meant to be in childhood. Light and free of the fear of being a freak. It was simply gone and it was so wonderful.

When had it all been yanked from under his feet? He was a nobody again. A nobody Psychonaut in the middle of a big city, without anywhere to be, anything to do, anyone to talk to. When had it all slammed into him? God, all he wanted was to go back to that summer day when he tried to make his treacherous lips say those three words to the former inmate.

Because in spite of such a brief encounter, he really did love Boyd, the way a child loves. Freely and gently, with no expectations other than to be loved in return. And he had been ready to blurt it out with childlike stupidity, but he didn't want to be rejected, so though he wrung his shirt in his hands, he didn't say it. He wished he could go back in time and say it, back when he had feelings, back when he was adventurous and new to life.

Heh. He sounded so old. But he wasn't.

So maybe there was time. Maybe time was not rushing down to crush him. If he went home now, back to his empty apartment, and he called Boyd, then he could talk to him again. Then things would be just like before, only now Bobby didn't have a lisp and it was winter. If Bobby closed his eyes, then he could go back in time to when he was in love and ready to blurt it out and see where life would take him, when he had a million dreams that all involved boyfriends he had yet to meet because who knew who life wanted him paired with?

Yeah, he was gonna go talk to Boyd. Not just for something to do, but…

Because he really loved him.


	47. BoydOleander

Author's Note: IMPORTANT! As of now I will not write a second chapter for any pairing. I'm sorry, but I get overwhelmed with these as it is (since I'm a procrastinator by nature) and it's the school year. Please understand that I am still taking requests, just not for pairings already done in this fic. Thank you for your time.

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Boyd stands guard.

He doesn't do it because he's ordered to. He knows orders are important. Orders are the crux of all existence. Subconscious and conscious orders given by others and ourselves are all that is life. Orders are what society is based on, whether or not society wants to admit it. But even orders do not guide this action, this simple but tiring task he endures every night without fail.

He knows what guides this action. He knows why he stands here from dusk til dawn, when Linda takes over. His feet ache and his eyes are sore and he wants so badly to go to bed already. He would, too, were it not for that one thing, the one emotion that repeatedly says 'screw society and logic'.

Boyd knows what it is. He knows it well. He thinks about it a lot. He has a lot of time up here, guarding the asylum, miles from anyone who can see. Oleander sees. Oleander sees well the problems of the world, the deceptions, the so called 'conspiracy theories' that are almost always true. He knows. Oleander sees and knows and Boyd knows and sees, but neither of them is seeing that the other knows.

Boyd knows he is in love. Love is like a command, actually. Because of love he will stand here until time ends, for years until the elements have worn away the whole building and only the gates remain. Gates that he will guard because his love commanded it.

Oleander does not look like a man who most would love. He is short and scruffy and pro-military and insane.

But he was kind. So kind, giving Boyd a job and a home, a place to sleep, a roof over his head, three full meals a night. All he asked was one task and no questions about the screams in the building. He gave Boyd his life back, out of the blue. No one had ever been so generous.

Guarding is all that he has been ordered to do.

And he will. He will guard these gates until he dies. It is all he feels he can do. So many orders have been so much harder, that he dares not hurt Oleander by breaking his and going to see the man. He has to stay here, outside, where orders dictate he belongs, because he is the guard. Guarding is what he does.

He may not want to. He may want to know what on Earth is going on in the building, what the screams and laughter is about. He may want to know more than Oleander's last name. He might want to ask the man a million questions. He might just want to spend more time with him. They've known each other for months and they don't know each other at all.

But 'may' and 'might' are not orders.

He was ordered to stand here, guard the building, make sure no one gets in. Oleander entrusted him with this task, this incredibly important task.

And so he stands guard.


	48. MikhailMilka

Author's Note: IMPORTANT! As of now I will not write a second chapter for any pairing. I'm sorry, but I get overwhelmed with these as it is (since I'm a procrastinator by nature) and it's the school year. Please understand that I am still taking requests, just not for pairings already done in this fic. Thank you for your time.

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The language barrier was Mikhail's biggest problem.

All he wanted to do was make a friend. But his English was slower than theirs and he knew he wasn't speaking right. What he was doing wrong, he didn't know, but when he opened his mouth his words never sounded like theirs. His grammar was the problem, Agent Nein told him, but the rest of the man's words were lost because Mikhail couldn't comprehend words as fast as Sasha spoke them.

In fact, the only people Mikhail understood consistently were Quentin and Vernon. Quentin actually had the courtesy to speak a little slower and more clearly. Vernon just flat out spoke slower than anyone else Mikhail had ever met in his entire life. But while the two of them were great in their own right, Quentin had band practice all the time and Vernon was always talking to someone. Someone who, when they turned to talk to Mikhail, he couldn't get everything they said. Then he'd have to guess at what they said and try and respond and he felt like he just wanted to go back to St. Petersburg and never speak of this place again.

He felt so stupid. That was how he must look to all of them, he was sure. Just a stupid kid who couldn't speak right. He dragged himself to class reluctantly, quietly sliding in the back, not speaking. The only person who spoke to him was Quentin, who greeted him with the usual, "Hey, bro, want some cocoa?" And class would pass. Everything would pass, with time and patience. But his time here would not be happy if this were any indication.

It wasn't his fault, he wanted to shout, it wasn't his fault he'd only been learning the English language for a month and he was new to this country. It wasn't his fault he was here, he wanted to stay home this summer. This was all a terrible twist of fate. Maloof disagreed – clearly Mikhail was doing good, he'd made three friends thus far. And while it helped that Maloof considered him a friend (and was willing to do most of the talking) it didn't make this place any more bearable when his friends weren't around.

So when Agent Vodello organized a camp dance, Mikhail did not want to go.

He did not want to be in a room where he'd only be catching bits of conversation and music he couldn't understand to save his life would be blasted so loud he couldn't hear. Nor was he fond of the idea of being up until midnight the night before his parents came to pick him up. They'd ask a million questions and he had to be wide awake to handle his mom on a good day. He didn't want to dress up in a fancy outfit that would then immediately get sweaty because it was summer and that many kids in one room would be like a furnace. He couldn't dance, either, for Christ's sake! This was ridiculous. He wasn't going.

Quentin talked him into it, with his friendly smile and positive attitude. Quentin highlighted all the positives. Music was always good, and he and Phoebe would be providing it. Mikhail liked their music. And Vernon would be there ("He won't get a date, trust me, bro!") so if worst came to worst Mikhail could just talk to him all evening. Maloof didn't know how to dance either but he was going. Raz was going to remove his precious hat and goggles for the night, so if Mikhail removed his stereotypical Russian hat, he'd be cool enough to function for the evening. All the girls would be there in pretty dresses and Agent Vodello was going to try and get Agent Nein to dance. (Who could miss that?)

So he ended up in the accursed Main Lodge, without his hat, in something akin to a tux that Quentin had lent him, standing awkwardly to the side, watching everyone dance. Quentin really had the place rocking, and Agent Nein was loudly screaming out incoherent phrases in German as Agent Vodello dragged him forcibly to the dance floor. Everyone was laughing and talking and Mikhail could only take it for an hour before he slipped out the back door, quietly, to have a moment alone. Dear lord it was hot in there.

The night air was cool and the moon was full. Feeling tired though he hadn't danced, Mikhail sat down on the nice cold stone porch, glad that there was something he could do without speaking to another person in a language he barely grasped.

Someone else sighed, and he turned to look – great, another kid to spoil his quiet – and saw Milka.

She was the only person here quieter than him. She almost never spoke to anyone, and if she did it was tiny, one-word answers that could barely be heard. Shy and reserved, he only knew her name from Quentin. Her dark brown hair was wavy tonight and it curved to frame her soft-featured face. The moonlight glinted off of her soft, dark skin and her simple, white sleeveless dress. And she looked so lonely, so absolutely isolated.

He knew the feeling.

So, hesitantly, he walked over to her, and softly he asked, in what he hoped to God was correct English, "Can I sit with you?"

She looked at him with understanding, dark brown eyes and nodded.

He sat down next to her. The beat of the music could be felt from the outside, and the faint sounds of animals drifted towards them from the forest. The wind rustled in the trees, and the yellow-gray moonlight made everything so different, yet he'd never felt more at peace. Milka timidly moved his hand toward his, and gingerly he took it. She smiled. And he smiled.

The language barrier was not a problem.


	49. BobbyQuentin

Author's Note: IMPORTANT! As of now I will not write a second chapter for any pairing. I'm sorry, but I get overwhelmed with these as it is (since I'm a procrastinator by nature) and it's the school year. Please understand that I am still taking requests, just not for pairings already done in this fic. Thank you for your time.

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"This is stupid!" Bobby Zilch howled, throwing yet another piece of paper at the trash can. "Why can't I get this right? Stupid paper!"

He sighed and rested his elbows on the table, his head in his hands. Two hours. He'd been trying for two hours to write this and he had nothing to show for it. He felt so stupid, so totally stupid. This shouldn't be hard. How hard could it be to write down some stupid feelings for a stupid hippy? This was supposed to be a quick little two minute thing. But two hours and he had nothing!

What the hell? He was an ass but he'd never been bad at school. C's with an occasional D and an occasional B. He wasn't stupid. He'd never been bad at writing. Teachers picked stupid topics, but he'd never been bad at it or taken very long. So why was he suddenly at a complete standstill with this?

With a resigned sigh, he pulled out another piece of paper and tried to think of words that weren't stupid. But everything sounded wrong. Nothing was summing this up right. He cringed and stared at the blank white surface, the faint blue lines, and tried to think of what to say. What was romantic? Hell if he knew, but he wanted to sound romantic and cool and stuff. The world was ending so it was time to come to terms with Quentin's stupid adorable orange hair that was stupidly soft and his stupid eyes that were deep and loving. And his stupid hippy-trippy outfits and stupid tie dye and stupid bellbottoms that clung to his thighs… This was stupid. Why was he doing this again?

"Why can't I get this right!" Bobby screamed, crumpling the unused paper and throwing it in a random direction. "All I want is to tell Hedgemouse that I love him more than beating up fish, losers, and wussies combined! Why I can't say it! This is STUPID!"

"…Really?"

Bobby whirled around and there stood Quentin Hedgemouse, looking adorable and sparkly eyed and gay. Oh, oh so very gay and hippy, with a few random braids in his hair and a bunch of flowers in one hand. Bobby was torn between twitching and tackling him. The orange-haired wonder beamed at him, and with a little leap, wrapped his arms around Bobby and hugged him.

"Man, that is so awesome. I was totally gonna make you cocoa and stuff to make you like me but this is even better!"

"Cocoa?" Bobby asked, sounding both annoyed and amused.

"Yeah!" Quentin grinned, one hand still around Bobby's neck, and held up the flowers. "You totally got try these. I mean, dry them and grind them up and stuff, but woah, the cocoa enhancing is great."

Bobby stared.

"Quentin?"

"Yeah, my lovery-dovey bro?"

"You're stupid."


	50. NilsVernon

Author's Note: IMPORTANT! As of now I will not write a second chapter for any pairing. I'm sorry, but I get overwhelmed with these as it is (since I'm a procrastinator by nature) and it's the school year. Please understand that I am still taking requests, just not for pairings already done in this fic. Thank you for your time.

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Nils listened closely as Vernon talked about girls.

Vernon has been many places, seen many things, talked to many people. He knows things, thousands of things that Nils doesn't. And to Nils, anyone who knows about 'the ladies' should be valued as a god and listened to intensely. There was no telling what awesome might be lurking beneath the layers of boring.

The problem was, however, the layers of boring.

It got to the point where Nils would fall asleep in various places, standing up, then fall over. He began to have bruises on his perfect, chick magnet of a face. That meant he had to apply foundation every few hours. What if some hot babe came along and figured out he wore make up? She'd think he was girly! That lame-o Vernon was cramping his style.

Think of the ladies, Nils told himself, think only of the ladies.

But it was hard. Vernon could be so boring. Even though Nils knew there was some interesting stuff in there, it was just plain boring. The monotone and the droning were driving him to an early grave, he was sure. He was trying so hard to pay attention but within ten minutes he was yawning.

It happened one day, after he and Elka had broken up for the hundredth time that camp, that Nils went to wash his face… and did not reapply foundation. So his bruises were evident when he staggered into the Main Lodge to hear another one of Vernon's long-winded tales and watch the TV's three cheesy channels.

Vernon stared at him. "Hey, Nils. I said, 'hey, Nils'!"

"I heard you."

"What happened to you face? It looks like mine this one time when I fell down a hill. Well, actually, it was more like a mountain."

"Elka and I got into a fight," Nils said with a sigh. "Seems she doesn't think I should be cruising the ladies. I was just looking, though. Jeez, she didn't have to slap me!"

Vernon leaned closer. "You know, she could go to jail for this."

"It's not that bad." Nils grinned. "We'll get back together. The ladies can't resist a blond, ya know?"

"She shouldn't be abusing you," Vernon placed a hand on Nils chin and tilted it so he could see the damage better. "I wouldn't if we were together."

"What would you do, tell me stories?"

Vernon nodded. "And other stuff."

Nils's cheeks turned pink. "I'm listening."


	51. FredSasha

Author's Note: IMPORTANT! As of now I will not write a second chapter for any pairing. I'm sorry, but I get overwhelmed with these as it is (since I'm a procrastinator by nature) and it's the school year. Please understand that I am still taking requests, just not for pairings already done in this fic. Thank you for your time.

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Fred liked Sasha best out of all of his examiners.

The German Psychonaut was not rude and brash like Oleander, nor was he sweet as a mother like Milla. Fred didn't like how Oleander reminded him of Napoleon, and hadn't he caused all the trouble? Milla acted like a mother. Fred didn't have a mother. It unnerved him. But Sasha…

Sasha was a little of everything. A bit formal, slightly snarky, logical and knowledgeable but casual at the same time. Fred didn't like people who were all one way, but Sasha could be many things, all of them insightful. The first time he examined Fred, he came in smelling strongly of beer and smoking a clove cigarette, saying, "Let's get this over with." The second time, when Fred resisted, Sasha added, "Psychonauts regulation says I have to at least once a week for the next to months. Also, Agent Vodello will kick my ass if I don't."

Fred liked how Sasha could make him laugh. No one else seemed to get Agent Nein's humor, but Fred did.

He also got that Agent Nein cared. Not too little, like Oleander, too much, like Milla, or in an overly suspicious way, like so many other Agents. Sasha thought Fred was 'interesting' and 'fascinating'. Fred always smiled when Sasha said those things because Sasha thought of Fred as a friend, not something to examine. Fred tried not to grin too much when Sasha was around – he didn't want to seem crazy – but it was hard not to.

Being around Sasha made him feel like a kid. Like when he was small and used to watch clouds, the peaceful, content feeling was something only Agent Nein and his intelligent, somewhat cynical remarks could induce. And as time went on, Agent Nein seemed to take a liking to Fred. It was such a wonderful friendship. Fred only wished he had the courage to take the relationship to the next level, but why spoil a good thing? He loved being friends with Sasha…

"Fred, if you'll quit reminiscing or whatever people your age do, I'm done," Sasha smirked at him.

"Huh? Oh, yeah, sorry 'bout that," Fred blushed sheepishly. "I was just thinking-"

"I know. I'm psychic."

Fred felt a moment of panic. "Um, I can explain-"

Sasha placed his hand over Fred's and for a moment Fred's heart skipped a beat.

"It's alright, Fred. If I weren't gay I'd never have lasted so long with Vodello as my direct superior."

Fred smiled and Sasha grinned ruefully as he left. Typical Sasha way of handling things. Direct but not harsh. Cool. Totally cool. Fred felt a childish, giddy feeling well up inside him. This was what he missed when he was in the asylum. No one made him feel so happy. Heck, even Fred's past boyfriends hadn't been as awesome as Sasha.

Yeah, he definitely liked Sasha the best.


	52. JasperBonita

Author's Note: IMPORTANT! As of now I will not write a second chapter for any pairing. I'm sorry, but I get overwhelmed with these as it is (since I'm a procrastinator by nature) and it's the school year. Please understand that I am still taking requests, just not for pairings already done in this fic. Thank you for your time.

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Jasper is like wine.

He seems so high class. Surely he must be, he's been here from the beginning. He dresses elegantly, like a wine in a finely crafted glass cup. He appears to have gotten his accent from Britain, where many wonderful plays came from. To glance at him, he would give the impression of a fine catch of a man. To look at him closely, he looks a bit chubby but still so high, high above and regal.

But like the vinegar in some wines, he is bitingly sharp.

A sip is all she gets every day. Barbed remarks and looks that could kill. Such an inviting package with a terrible aftertaste. The sharpness of his sour words reminds Bonita firmly not to drink the poison. It's like a warning, an alcohol induced headache that grounds her to reality. The reality is that she has never been a wine person and never will be. A sip may be all she can take daily, and she knows it. Yet it draws her like a moth to a flame.

The sharp, bitter taste is made more inviting, though, by alcohol.

Like the infamous chemical, he is intoxicating. He can be so nice, so gentle, luring her close. A little alcohol never hurt anyone. Why not try some? Why not more? _Why not more, Bonita?_ His presence is constant. His words can be coated candy sweet, belying their true nature, if only because he wants someone to talk to. And who hasn't felt that mix up of boredom and loneliness? Maybe she can be the one to help him, to get him back to the way he used to be, smiles and constructive criticsim. But does she want him to be like that, without his bite, his clarity?

Bonita doesn't know what she wants.

She would love to drink up the wine that is Jasper. She would love to revel in the taste, the sour and sweet and sharpness that he is. But too much wine is dangerous. Too much would be like a shock to her system, which it could not take. Yet so little, this tiny, subtle flirting they do now, is not enough. It will never be enough. Perhaps she isn't a wine person, but that won't stop her from wanting some. Perhaps, yes, he's too much for her. It's not her fault though. This insane attraction is natural.

Who hasn't wanted to try something poisonous?


	53. EdgarDogen

Author's Note: IMPORTANT! As of now I will not write a second chapter for any pairing. I'm sorry, but I get overwhelmed with these as it is (since I'm a procrastinator by nature) and it's the school year. Please understand that I am still taking requests, just not for pairings already done in this fic. Thank you for your time.

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Edgar loved the quiet of the night, though it was a bit eerie.

Something about being back at Whispering Rock was comforting and distressing at the same time. It was a happy place, where children could show their powers without fear, and where they could make friends with others of their kind. Yet it was not quite right with him. He was used to looking at the camp from Thorney Towers, not at looking at the remains of the asylum from camp. Something about seeing it from here was different. Not unpleasantly so. He was grateful to be out of that place, as he'd told Razputin a hundred times at the Psychonaut's eighteenth birthday party not an hour ago in the Main Lodge.

He wasn't sure why he left the party. Maybe it was just that he was too old. The psitanium had slowed his aging considerably, but he still felt the effects as he stared at his old prison. It had been so long, nearly eight years now, since he had been there. While he hated it so much, at least he had been near his love. Oh, Gloria, how beautiful she looked now, with her hair done up gracefully and a smile on her face. But she was with Fred now.

He had to move on, accept it. She had found the other half of herself in him. Everyone deserved that much in life. Fred made her insanely happy (no pun intended towards their old home, of course). Fred was also a good man. Edgar had many years of memories that backed that up. But somehow, it still hurt to see her on his arm, so in love, and not a thought devoted to _him_. Oh, it made his insides ache. He knew it was for the best, yet no logic could make it okay.

A sniffle drew his attention towards the other end of the beach.

Dogen Boole had gone from a stubby little boy to an awkwardly lanky teen to a handsome man. Years of missions and training had made him finally have the control to lose his tinfoil hat, revealing a sea of thick dark blue hair. His silver eyes were much more focused now then as a child, and to Edgar, they seemed sadder. The young man pulled his knees to his chest and wrapped his arms around them in something akin to a fetal position.

For a moment, Edgar wondered whether he should say something. Dogen looked like he needed a friend. Then again, Edgar hardly knew him; brief conversations with the Junior Psychonaut once or twice a year were all he had.

But as Edgar watched, his artist's eyes took in an image far different from what he had seen before. It was like when he had transformed Lana into Lampita in his mind. He saw the soft featured face and saw a delicacy hidden by years of fighting to be 'cool'. He saw hair like darkest midnight waves, an ocean in the moonlight. And he saw pain in those eyes, pain that was of the heart and soul.

So he made the decision to talk to this beautiful young man, who had dressed in his Psychonauts uniform for this event. So formal, so polite. Where had the awkward, mumbling little boy gone? It seemed this could not be the same person. For Dogen had never been this thoughtful as a child, it seemed, and now he was deep in thought, watching the lake waves bring in dead fish and the seagulls swoop down for the food. He had really become a different person as the years had gone by. Edgar approached him quietly, and it seemed as if the Psychonaut did not hear him.

"May I join you?" Edgar asked, gesturing to the sand beside Dogen. "A night this beautiful should not be spent alone."

He blinked, startled, but didn't spare more than a glance at Edgar. "Sure, whatever."

They sat in silence for a moment. The sounds of the night were familiar and comforting to both; the squeak of psychic crickets, the rhythm of the lake waves splashing against the sand, the occasional shriek as a cougar leapt out at a seagull somewhere within the forest. They'd heard this before. There had been many nights like these for both of them, sitting on the beach and looking out at the lake. It seemed as though this moment had happened before.

"Edgar?" Dogen asked quietly, resting his chin on his knees. "Have you ever been in love with someone – not puppy love, real love – and then figure out you don't have a snowball's chance in Hell?"

"Yes," Edgar said in return, smiling ruefully, "That's the story of my life. So, someone you-"

"Yeah," Dogen summed it up. "I know, I know, I shouldn't break up a happy couple. But if I could, I would. Does that make me a bad person?"

The way he said that last part reminded Edgar of when Dogen had been younger, more naïve, and he shook his head. "No, that makes you human."

There was a pause. Then…

"Being human sucks," Dogen announced.

Edgar laughed, hard, and after a moment, Dogen managed a smile. The two returned to comfortable silence for a while, Edgar occasionally chuckling. Each time he did, Dogen rolled his eyes. It seemed the mood had gotten considerably more companionable. Edgar looked at him and was pleased to see Dogen looking significantly happier. There was just a way those soft features lit up when the young man smiled, and a twinkle to those silver eyes… it was, as Raz would surely say, awesome.

"Dogen," Edgar told him softly, "I'm sure you'll be able to find someone else, with time. A man such as yourself is a true work of art."

Dogen looked him in the eye and smiled. "And what's the art without the artist?"


	54. DogenSasha

Author's Note: IMPORTANT! As of now I will not write a second chapter for any pairing. I'm sorry, but I get overwhelmed with these as it is (since I'm a procrastinator by nature) and it's the school year. Please understand that I am still taking requests, just not for pairings already done in this fic. Thank you for your time.

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I don't wanna mess things up.

I've seen how angry kids get over dates and stuff. And I don't want to cause trouble. I already did that when I made some kids' heads explode. It was really messy and everyone got mad at me. I don't want people to get mad at me. I don't like making their day suck. I'm not like Bobby.

But even though I don't wanna mess things up, part of me wants to.

I kinda wish I could be Sasha's boyfriend.

I know he likes Milla. But in my head, I can't help but wish I was his boyfriend. He's so cool. He's like Raz, but taller and he smokes like a chimney. I don't care about that, though. I wouldn't make him quit like Milla. I'd let Sasha do whatever he wants. He knows better.

He knows a lot of stuff. He made me my tinfoil hat. It's so cool. Now my parents let me go to school and hang out with my friends and stuff, 'cause they know Sasha doesn't make mistakes. Sasha made my whole life lots better. He did it because he's smart.

I think he might know that I like him. But he doesn't say anything. He knows I don't want to talk about it. He knows I just wanna be in his class and learn from him. I won't bring it up. I don't wanna cause trouble, like I said. He doesn't either. Sasha makes life better for people, you know?

That's why I wish I could be his boyfriend.

But I'm too short and too young. He doesn't care about exploding heads. He doesn't care that I'm kind of insane. Sasha doesn't judge people like that. But I know that he likes Milla because she's his age and she's his height and that makes him feel more at ease. I watch him a lot. I know these things. So I know I'm not right for him. I don't want him to be uneasy around me like Bobby is around Chloe. It's no fun.

I like what we have now. I'm his friend, you know? That's enough. It's not much, but Raz says I'm being mature about it. He would know, he's in a relationship, and he says he could never give up Lili for Lili's sake the way I've given up Sasha to Milla. It's hard. It hurts a lot. But if he's happy, then I'm okay.

I don't wanna mess things up.


	55. BobbyClem

Author's Note: Yeah, I know I usually update in batches, but I did these two right after the reviews, and I figure there's no reason to make people wait.

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"Um, hey," Bobby said awkwardly, "What's up?"

Clem blinked at him from the hospital bed. "Hey Bobby. Why are you here?"

His voice betrayed how confused he was, and Bobby cringed. He knew this was a dumb idea – of course it was, it was Raz's idea. But he wasn't here because of Raz, he'd like to point out. No, he wasn't here with Clem's favorite flowers, at eight in the morning when he should be in school, just because of Goggalicious yelling at him. He was here because… why was he here, again?

Clem's arms were heavily bandaged, but he managed to move them enough to take the flowers.

"Oh, wow! Morning Glory, my favorite flower ever! Isn't it just awesome?"

"Uh, sure, whatever," Bobby shuffled his feet, feeling self-conscious. "So… does it hurt?"

Clem's smile faded a little. "I can't really tell. It's sort of numb. The doctors said I lost a lot of blood."

Bobby gathered his courage. "Look, if this is my fault I'm sorry. I was just being stupid and I didn't mean it, okay?"

"You called me a fag."

The blue skinned boy cringed again and nodded.

"Why?"

"I, uh," Bobby rubbed the back of his neck. "If you ever tell anyone this, I'll put you back in this bed, but, well…"

"Yeah?"

Bobby mumbled something Clem didn't quite catch.

"Pardon?"

"I said, I…" Bobby took a deep breath. "I love you, okay? Geez! I just can't let anyone know because my parents would hate me and my reputation would be ruined and then Goggalicious would be mocking me 'cause this is stupid."

Clem paused, looking at the flowers. The lavender blue and purple stars were soft and fresh. Expensive. Bobby had skipped school to come here. His parents would kill him for this. He had come across the city, on foot, for this. What did all that mean? Why was he doing this? Clem didn't get the meaning, the thought, here.

Bobby showed feelings in actions, not words. Clem knew that much.

"Look, I made a mistake," Bobby said softly. "And if you don't ever wanna hang out, I understand. I just wanted to say I'm sorry and you're awesome, and stuff."

"Bobby?"

"Yeah?"

"You're ultra mega awesome!" Clem beamed at him, all apparently forgiven. "You wanna hear my new love cheer?"

"Sure," Bobby said, his eye twitching.

Why was he doing this again?


	56. OleanderMilla

Author's Note: I wrote this right after it was requested. This only took about thirty minutes, but I like how it came out. is proud

------------------------------------------------

"Oh, Morceau…"

This was her fault. If only she had been a better friend. Maybe if she had listened closer to him, he wouldn't have been driven to this.

Sasha never listened to him, but he never listened to anyone. Milla had tried so hard to keep the peace between the two of them, get them to coexist peacefully. They were polar opposites and she knew it was hard. This stress, though, wasn't doing either of them good. They needed to learn to get along. It was the different minds of many that made the Collective Unconscious so wonderful, she kept telling them. And Sasha ignored her.

So he had kept arguing with Morceau. In the end it was all her fault, she thought bitterly. If she had only tried harder with them, Morceau wouldn't be doing this.

She knew he was a very aggressive person, and she loved that part of his personality, but she never imagined this would happen. No, no matter what anyone said, Milla had never believed there was anything wrong with him. He was a driven man, a passionate one, he had a thousand dreams for the psychics of tomorrow, and she defended him. He had his own way of looking at things, his own way of dealing with kids.

Milla had always insisted there was nothing wrong with him. And if there was, it was just emotional baggage and as a Psychonaut, he would handle it with time, just like everyone else. She had faith in him.

He had always had a hard time getting along with people. He came across as overly serious and too military for most people to handle. He intimidated men twice his size and disturbed some people. But from her first day here, Milla had made an effort to find a friend in this man. Maybe no one else was trying hard enough. He couldn't be all bad. Only two people out of every million or so were really bad at heart. She doubted he was. Maybe he just needed to be given a chance.

And she had given him that chance.

She'd made him muffins, sugar-coated, moist muffins that had blueberries, his favorite fruit, in them. She'd offered to help him with his schedule if he wanted. She'd complimented all his better personality traits. They hung out. They watched television in the Main Lodge, they talked about anything that came to mind, and Milla found his military knowledge was second to none. She made him breakfast one time, and he smiled, the first real smile she'd gotten out of him.

The day before camp was to start, his father died.

She found him in his office, raging incoherently against the world. He shouted and mumbled and kicked the wall until, finally, he began to cry. And Milla knew no words of comfort could heal this wound, so she fell to her knees and pulled him close. He tried not to cry and he tried not to break down, but in Milla's arms, he showed his softer side. Life does not care if you are a tough person or not. It will deal out damage that cannot be handled at the worst possible time. Milla was there for him.

She asked if there was anything she could do, anything she could help with, what he needed done. If he wanted to take the day off, that was fine by her. But he had only shaken his head and said thank you before going back to work.

Milla knew now she should have tried harder to help him. She should have taken him aside and talked about this, about what had happened and his relationship with his father. She should have done something to keep him stable. The loss of a parent could destroy anyone's mind, and she knew that. If she had only done a better job, helped him out more, maybe done the opening speech? Her mind came up with a thousand things she could have done to help him.

Now he had lost his mind.

She knew it was her fault.

---------------------------------------------------------------------

"How are they doing?" Oleander asked Laboto, surveying the two unconscious Agents. "Their health check out?"

"Yes, indeedy!" Laboto chirped. "They should be able to have their brains removed without any damage to the rest of their bodies."

Milla stirred softly. Oleander glanced over at her. Her hair glinted in the lab light. It was eerie; his mind shuddered at how, save her breathing, she could be dead for how everything looked in here. He gently reached out and pushed her hair behind her ear. More practical, he'd always tell her before. And Milla would laugh lightly and ask when she was practical… He smiled faintly.

"Morceau…" she mumbled. "I'm sorry…"

He felt tears well up for no logical reason as he stared at her.

Milla had nothing to apologize for. The Brazilian Psychonaut had been his best friend since the day he got here. Always helping and smiling, giving him muffins and telling him how nice he was. She always had a compliment for everyone. She found something good in him. Milla even defended him to Truman Zanotto.

"Morceau is a good man," she said, crossing her arms and glaring fiercely at the Grand Head. "He has worked so hard to make this camp go smoothly. Please, darling, let him stay here. It'd be a shame to turn your back on all the work he's done."

All the work he'd done? She helped with most of it, all of it, really. Researching how things went, suggesting how to do something a little better, and she'd done half of his share of the cleaning in the Counselor's Cabins. Never a day went by where Milla did not at least review what he'd done and make sure it was done right. No one should have to go through Truman's 'everything must be perfect and don't ever make a mistake' speech. Milla knew Oleander wasn't perfect.

She loved him anyway.

How he'd blushed when she first said that. Milla said it to everyone, of course. Sasha, Raz, the kids, and even Truman. She called everyone 'darling' and, occasionally, 'sweetie'. She was like everyone's best friend. It caught him off guard.

Morceau knew he shouldn't breathe too much into her words. But it was hard not to fall for her. The smiles, hugs, help, the muffins. She was an endless supply of generosity and joy. She treated him like he was her best friend. He didn't deserve it. She would do anything for him, just because she could and he needed it. He tried not to fall for such a modern day disco hippy. He loved her anyway. How could he not when she was so wonderful to him? There was never any problem of his Milla wasn't willing to listen to.

And how had he paid her out?

By kidnapping her and having a mad dentist remove her brain.

"No, Milla," he whispered softly, "_I'm_ sorry."


	57. GManGman

NOTE: If you've requested something, and it's not up, it WILL be today, I promise. Do not panic.

--

Everything had been so normal at first.

All their actions, dialogue, and work shifts were planned out. There were no surprises. The world continued in its way. Families of figments going about their lives, that one man hiding in his house in the cul-de-sac, the Rainbow Squirts going about their cookie drive. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary.

He was a young G-Man, bright eyed and new to the job. Most of them could not be bothered to help him, but reprimanded him anyway when he messed up. He was wrecking the order of things, they said to their superior, and he was going to get all of them exposed. He didn't talk right, he walked funny, he made eye contact with people, and he still did things like laugh and cry. He was not only a danger, but an embarrassment outright to all their kind. Someone like this did not belong in the open, they argued. But, their superior shot back, they needed another agent out in the field. Things were too close to a breakthrough to pull back some of their forces now. No matter how bad he was, he had to stay.

The solution came in the form of another G-Man. His new boss. His new role model. This person was meant to be all he based his life on. His actions. His words. Everything should mimic _this_ one, the rest told him. Do that and everything would be fine. And he did; he wanted to be good at his job, wanted to keep it. So he began to watch the other G-Man. The other G-Man, who never reprimanded him or spoke harshly to him. The words of the older one were gentle even if the tone was robotic; a move to get the other one to work better alongside him.

He watched as the other man worked, and worked in the same way. He heard what the other man said, and said the same thing. He took breaks at the same time, he spoke in the same, monotone way, and he walked the same. When the older man did things like using his stop sign like a baseball bat, the younger tried to do likewise. When he grew quiet, the other went quiet. It was tiring, mimicing all these actions, it was a lot to remember every day. Yet he managed to do so. He managed the looks, the poses, the walks, the tone of voice, as perfectly as could be. When he would fail, there was always a soft 'let's try it again' and then practice. Never a shout or a glare. His teacher knew what would and would not work on him.

He thought he was doing well. No one complained about him or called him names anymore, no one told him he was ruining anything. It seemed he was doing fine. But the other G-Man thought differently.

"You're still speaking with too much emotion," he quipped. "Try not to bend your limbs so much. Move faster."

And he did. He did at first because it was an assignment, and these were the orders. It was the law that he do so. Laws could not ever be broken. Laws had to be followed, he told himself at first. Then he did it because he liked seeing the other man smile faintly when he got things right. He didn't know why, but seeing his friend happy made him happier. That made the job a bit more bearable. He put all the emotion out of his voice, kept his arms straight, and went about everything quickly. He knew it wasn't right or good to make someone else show emotion. He knew it was a danger to them both. He knew all the risks and yet he loved it. It was the closest thing to breaking the rules as one could get without actually breaking them.

"Stand up straighter," the other one told him, "Speak clearer."

So he did, he always did everything that his partner asked him, but it was never enough. There always seemed to be something else to do, something he was failing at, something he needed to try again. It was exhausting. Maybe he wasn't cut out for this kind of work. What was he doing wrong? What was he failing at? He didn't understand why the older man worked him so hard. All he knew was that his teacher knew best. All he knew was that he was going to try his best to make his teacher proud. Well, no, the other man would never be so emotional as to be proud. Perhaps 'content' was all he could hope for. But fine, then, he would make the other man content.

"Better," the older G-Man told him softly, "That is good."

"Question, sir."

"Permission to ask," his teacher replied. He always gave his student permission to ask questions, something the other G-Men rarely even considered.

"I am at an adequate level of performance. Why do you continue to train me at such a pace?" he asked, hoping his extreme curiousity was not evident in his voice. Now was not the time to appear weak.

"Because I know you can achieve more than adequate levels of performance. I know that with time, you could outdo all your peers in performance, and..." he paused, biting his lip.

"And, sir?"

"And," his friend whispered in a soft, sad tone, "I enjoy every second we work together. You are not normal; you are an individual and I enjoy that immensely."

A heavy silence fell over them. The younger man wanted to say something, but his mind was blank. The older man, perfectly aware he had broken enough regulations to get himself fired and sent back for more hypnosis sessions, simply waited for that to happen. He waited while his student processed what had been said, and knew without a doubt that any second now he was going to be turned in for this. Why he'd even said it, he didn't know, but the weight of his mistake settled around his shoulders. He sighed deeply. This was taking longer than it should have. Those words of his - he'd destroyed their nice, organized, formal, unloving relationship, the kind of relationship G-Men were supposed to have.

Finally his student moved toward him. Closer than was needed. He paused, then moved even closer, to whisper in older man's ear.

"I like you, too." He pulled away, blushing like a child.

And with their tender moment over, everything returned to normal.


	58. NightmareRaz

Author's Note: Okay, THIS CHAPTER and this chapter only? Rated M. I think. I don't know. But if you cannot handle M-rated pieces of writing, then turn away. (What earns this its M, you ask? Let me put it this way: bow chika wow wow.)

-- -- -- - -- -- - - -- - --

It had him cornered.

He was out of ammo, out of ideas, and out of breath. He was in pain, low on health and completely at its mercy. His green eyes frantically scanned the area for something, anything at all to use to defend himself, but there wasn't anything. Clumsily, he backed up on his hands and knees. He couldn't stand. It had burned his leg with sharp and horrible claws; he couldn't get out of here to save his life. Every piece of knowledge from everything True Psychic Tales comic left him, his mind going blank as his back hit the wall. He could't move, he could't speak. Raz always knew he would have one really stupid moment in his life that resulted in extreme pain. He just hadn't thought it was coming so soon.

It grabbed him and he cringed, waiting for the end.

Instead it gripped him hard, his shoulders burned, and he slumped to the ground, unable to move. Pain was coursing through every part of his body, from his head to his toes. Everything was far too warm, too hot. He was going to suffocate, he thought happily, die before this thing could torment him any further. Then he'd wake up nice and safe in reality. As if hearing his thoughts, it chuckled. In a single motion, it flpped him over, and Raz breathed in dirt. Choking, the young Psychonaut struggled to breathe as he lost sight of his attacker. He was so involved in the tasks of flipping over and breathing properly that he didn't see where the nightmare had gone. With a lot of effort, Raz was on his back again. The hot air never tasted so sweet.

A low, cold laugh caused him to freeze. In all his youthful wisdom, Raz knew that, generally, when someone beating you up laughs, it is not a good thing. He looked up, and it seemed like the creature in front of him is going to hit him hard this next time. This was the end. Raz's eyes closed as he waited for the final blow to come. After all these missions and fights, brought down by a nightmare, a delusion in someone's mind...

Instead, there was something like a sizzling sound, and incredibly hot lips were forced onto his own. It burned, it scorched, and Raz screamed outright, pulling his mouth away as his mouth ached. His eyes opened, and he was aware of some horrific transformation having gone on when he closed his eyes, because the creature in front of him was neither nightmare nor human, some horrific, nightmare-eyed purple skinned naked cross between the two.

In the second Raz realized it was naked and on top of him, true panic set in.

"THE HELL YOU'LL MAKE OUT WITH ME!" the young Psychonaut screamed, then there was a barrage of Psi-Blasts that threw the demon clear back into the wall. "DON'T EVEN THINK ABOUT IT!"

But it just went underground, popped up, and made him waste his ammo. It was mocking him, laughing at him, lustfully looking him up and down as Raz doomed himself. It knew that soon, Raz was going to run out of aggression. Sticking a forked tongue out, alien yellow eyes glaring out from beneath a mass of black hair, it smirked as the room continued to grow hotter and hotter. Raz was sweating so much he was drenched. To its delight, he didn't run out of Psi-Blasts before the heat caused him to collapse outright.

"Back off!" he snapped, fruitlessly. It moved closer, and in spite of himself, he looked its body over, blushing when he realized 'it' was a he. "Ew, you're just nasty, you know that?"

The demon boy grinned, revealing small, black fangs, and then in one swift movement it straddled his hips. Raz's face went beet red and he turned his head away, closing his eyes so he wouldn't look... you know... down there. A burst of quiet laughter from the demon only made Raz more furious, but he couldn't fight his way off this time. First off, the boy on top weighed an insane amount for someone so skinny, something the Psychonaut attributed to the fact that this was not reality. Second of all, Raz didn't have the energy to stand, let alone kick demon ass.

Smirking at him, the demon kissed him again. Heat threatened to overwhelm Razputin as he felt the other boy's body press against his. Even though the part of his mind screaming he was straight was protesting, there was another part of him that was beginning to feel aroused. The demon boy kissed him after a moment's pause for breathing, a harsh French kiss that left Raz moaning. He tried not to, but his body was not listening to him right now. Planting a series of harsh kisses on the Psychonaut's neck resulted in a series of groans. Raz's hips began to shift against the other boy's, and for a second, they made eye contact. Yellow and green. Pure lust and lust mixed with fear.

"Don't... stop..." Raz's lips betrayed him, just like his body. "Please, please don't stop."

"Alright," it whispered in the softest voice he'd ever heard, and Raz felt one clawlike hand undo his belt. The gentle tone contrasted the rough nature of this demon. "Razputin."

The way it hissed his name made him blush. Raz's eyes closed, and he knew it was wrong. This should not be happening, this wasn't right. A non-human, a nightmare, a demon. This probably violated a lot of Psychonaut rules. He knew that, but it was so hard to give a damm because oh God, this felt so good. He groaned, the room became even hotter, and the demon boy was struggling to breathe. This was not heaven. This was hell. Wonderful, wonderful hell. Raz's hands buried themselves in the other boy's hair. It was so overwhelmingly hot, his entire body was soaked in sweat, the air was hard to breathe. But he couldn't make himself say 'stop'. There was a scorching feeling where the demon was grinding against him; bare skin against what felt like flame. The pace picked up, even though Raz didn't want it to, and he wasn't sure if he was crying out of pain or pleasure or both, and then...

"GET THE FUCK OFF MY BOYFRIEND!" And the next thing the nightmare knew, Lili had threw into a wall at full force. Her eyes blazed with psychic power, ready to rip it limb from limb. Hissing, it melted back into the floor, vanishing instantly. When it did not resurface, Lili turned to Raz with the kind of worry only a girlfriend can manage. "Raz? Raz, can you hear me? Say something!"

"I... Lili?"

"Yes, Raz?" she asked, kneeling beside him. "Don't you dare pass out. Come on, talk to me."

"Best. Mission. Ever."

Then he passed out.


	59. CrispinRaz

AN: I love this chapter, and it made me lol. XD I seriously have no idea why I didn't get to this sooner, honestly...

--

It was a dark, calm night at Whispering Rock.

Crispin sat forlornly on the roof of the Main Lodge, his bad eyes struggling to focus on the moon. It was truly beautiful out here. It had been so long since he'd been able to be outside, in nature. The asylum hadn't even been worth looking at back in its glory days, let alone in the state of disrepair it had fallen in now. If only his eyes were better, he could properly enjoy this... this peace. Peace, that was the word for it. The dawn peaking over the horizon, casting a dull orange glow over the not yet gone moon - he could stay here forever.

Only he couldn't.

"Hey!" it was that boy, the one with the green eyes and big smile that even Crispin couldn't miss. "Aren't you cold or something?" Before Crispin could answer, he continued, "I grabbed this jacket from Sasha's lab. He won't mind, and it'll fit you. Probably. Maybe. I dunno."

Sheepishly, Crispin thanked him, hoping that the smile threatening to work its way onto his face wouldn't. "Aren't you up a bit late?"

"Actually, I feel great," Raz grinned, "Milla and Sasha and Oleander and Ford and all the special Agents ALL let me finish off their lattes and epressos and coffees and teas! So I think I'm pretty much good to go."

"Ugh, American coffee. Now, that's one thing I didn't miss at all," Crispin chuckled, "You ever want to know how coffee should be made, go to France."

"Agent Nein's taking me to Germany when I get older, so I can try beer," the overly hyper child put in, and then paused to ask, "Hey, where are you going after this?"

"Surgery," he snapped, throwing his hands in the air angrily and causing Raz to jump back, "Surgery for my eyes! Agent Vodello insists on paying for it, driving me there and being my little cheerleader minus the bloody pompoms!"

"O...kay, how is being able to see a bad thing?" Raz asked, leaning in. "I mean, your eyes look kinda zombie cool right now, but when they're not foggy you'll have that bright eyed squirrel-orderly appeal thing!"

"...That was supposed to be encouraging, wasn't it?"

"Yeah."

"Surgery is..." Crispin trailed off. Razputin moved closer. The boy was concerned, Crispin could feel it. Concerned and not gushing with an overkill of sympathy like Agent Vodello. Just worried. "Surgery is tricky. I could go blind."

There was a pause while Crispin batted away those goddamm tears he'd been holding in for over three hours, since Agent Vodello broke the news to him. Furiously wiping away his tears on Agent Nein's sleeves, Crispin realized he probably looked like a fool right now. Sissy, that's what his dad used to say as he hit him. Stupid. Little. Sissy. But this wasn't a minor thing like when he was a child. This wasn't a skinned knee or a missing tooth. This was total blindness he was risking here, and once his tears started, he couldn't stop crying.

"Hey," Raz's voice was soft, "Come here."

And then warm, comforting arms were wrapped around Crispin. Raz didn't tell him he was a wuss, didn't fill his head with false promises that everything would be alright. He didn't say anything past those three words as he gingerly let Crispin bury his head onto his shoulder. There was no gushing of pity, no Disney Channel-esque speeches, and none of those annoying 'hush' sounds people always made when someone was crying. Just a hug, and a reassuring smile. Innocent and child-like, because only a child like Razputin could be so open and loving. Crispin leaned into the embrace.

"Look at this way," Raz said suddenly, "If you go blind, you can sue the doctor. Oh, and people who don't hire you. That'll be cool, huh?"

Crispin couldn't help but grin. "Yes, wonderful. Absolutely wonderful plan of action."

"Yeah, I'm a strategical genius."

"And so modest," Crispin ruffled his hair affectionately as the sun peaked out over the mountainside. "Whatever shall I do to repay you for such brilliance?"

"Can you get me some coffee? Agents Yamada and Watanabe won't let me have anymore. They said they were - what's that really official sounding term for 'being controlling Japanese douchebags'?"

"They cut you off?"

"Yeah, that."

Crispin grinned in a more than slightly insane manner. "For you, my boy, I will get you an entire pot of coffee!"

"With sugar?" Raz's eyes sparkled.

"Yes."

"BEST ORDERLY EVER!" and Raz kissed him on the cheek before letting out a loud whoop and blasting a powerline to the Main Lodge. Instantly, everything went dark. "Oops. My bad."

Thus the dark, calm night at Whispering Rock became the loud, coffeeless, electricity deprived morning at Whispering Rock.


	60. DogenRaz

Eh, I thought it was cute.

- -- - -- - - - - - - - - -- -- -

"Dogen, there are NO monsters under your bed. I promise."

"What if they went invisible?"

"Dogen, monsters can't-"

"What if they can teleport?"

"No, seriously, I don't think-"

"What if they have lasers?"

Raz's jaw dropped and, rolling his eyes, he ran a hand through his hair. While most of the Cadets were getting a fitful night's sleep right now, the trauma of having his brain taken out had left Dogen up. For hours. At this point, even Sasha and Milla had gone to bed. How anyone could be up right now was beyond Raz. It was late. It was dark. The Coach had been stopped, Linda was off exploring the lake, and all the bears and cougars had been beaten into submission. If Dogen had any common sense, he'd be asleep.

Except there was no common sense to be had in Dogen's mind.

"Dogen, _please_, it's one in the morning. Just go to bed. I promise, if a monster gets you, I'll save you again, okay?" Raz sighed, exasperated.

"I don't wanna get taken away by a lake monster! I want my mom," Dogen sniffled. His eyes were watery. "Raz, don't you have a mom?"

"Um, no, actually," the redhead admitted, awkwardly rubbing the side of his head. "Why? What're moms supposed to do?"

"My mom lets me sleep in her bed," Dogen said, eyes bright and shiny and begging. "Raz, could you, maybe, uh-?"

"Oh, for cryin' out loud!" Raz snapped, and probably would've yelled more if Dogen's puppy dog eyes hadn't stopped him. "Fine. Just, _please,_ go to sleep now?"

"M'kay!"

A few minutes later, just as Raz was drifting off to sleep...

"Raz?"

Sigh. "Yes?"

"I love you."

"I love you too. Now go to sleep."

"What about the monsters?"

Raz groaned.

It was going to be a long night.


	61. DartRaz

I tried to save you all.

I was the most powerful telepath on the face of the Earth, not that I had any idea. I knew the Coach's plan, I read it in the air and in every place he had been. I tried to tell Sasha, tried to tell Milla. No one believed me. No one saw me as anything other than paranoid. Lots of telepaths are paranoid, right? Right. So of course my warnings didn't mean anything.

And I said damn it all, I don't care, I'm going off on my own. I did, in plain daylight. I teleported. It was my only other psychic power. It left me exhausted and shaking but I stormed the Coach's cabin for evidence. The whole place was filled with it. I thought I could save everyone, convince Agent Cruller that I was right. I thought I was going to stop this before it got anywhere near out of control, before anyone got hurt. I was such a fool. A telepath like me had no defenses. He ripped through my mind and left me out cold on the floor of his room before I could even scream.

He killed me.

But I'm stubborn. I'm an idiot, over confident, my hat is itchy, but for all my flaws I'm strong willed. I knew someone else would see it, see the cracks in Oleander's mind. I tried to get Lili to listen to wake up to what was happening. Then you came. Raz. The last of the Aquato line. Your mind was so solid he couldn't even start to get in. I knew you'd be able to do it, to save the camp.

No one will ever touch you. No one will hurt you, the only person who ever knew I was right. I will respawn you, give you more chances than even Agents have. I will guard you, making sure you never fall. I will not let you meet my fate, I will not let Lili meet my fate. Your clairvoyance is all mine, all _my_ energy streaming through you. I don't care if I fade into nothing. It's crossed my mind, since I'm a ghost now, but as long as you succeed, we'll be okay. I'll be okay.

You can almost see me. You can almost make out my dim form in the background, in the remnants of people's memories. I'm almost there, almost real. Yet you don't doubt me when my voice tells you where to go and what to do. You'll follow a ghost to the darkest mental recesses, out of blind trust. Maybe you're aware of who I am. Maybe you just know I don't want to hurt you.

I really just want you to be safe.

I died for my stupidity, Raz. But if it ruins me, Laboto will amazingly forget to remove your brain each time he captures you, you'll always make it back to dry land when pulled under, and you'll never fall so fast I can't make you use your thought bubble. You're a real hero. You're smart and funny and social, everything I never was. So even as you call out to me, scared and alone in this asylum, I'm here. I'll always be here for you, in spirit.

Semi-physical, can you feel my body against yours? I wish I could hug you and make it all better (maybe a slap ala Cruller would be more effective?) but I'm hardly real right now. Your arms wrap around where my body should be. You are not an idiot. You can sense I'm here. If I were more of a fool, I might lay here for an eternity longer. We don't have that kind of time. I pull away, kiss you on the cheek and smile.

"Go on, Raz. Laboto still needs to be stopped." Annoyed, I shove those pointy shoulders of yours. "Go!"

"Who are you?" Wide green eyes, total obliviousness to my command. Ah, Raz, you _are_ cute. No wonder Lili's been thinking about you for an hour straight.

"Dartagan. Dartagan Galochio." And your hands reach out, pass through me. A question forms in your mind, and I answer before you ask. "It doesn't matter what happened. Just go on, Raz. We're running out of time!"

Off you go, then, eyes wide as saucers, thinking that you could've prevented my death. I hover in the air, and wish there was more I could do. Even if you don't need or want my help...

I'll always try to save you.


	62. BoydMilla

She had never let herself cry.

She had screamed and shrieked and tore at her hair, but after the intial shock, after her initial levitation and the frantic search for the children in the flames, she went numb. The search yielded nothing, not even bodies, because the inferno was so intense. Her powers were the only thing keeping her from being burned and destroyed. In a sick way, she almost wished she could've been burned alongside them. She screamed one last time, and then shakily made her way home.

When the police and the fire department and the social worker interviewed her, she didn't cry. She wanted to. She wanted to cry hysterically into someone's shoulder until her eyes were raw. Milla never held back emotion. She wore her heart on her sleeve. She wanted to be open about this, but... The parade of people, of officials asking the same questions, desensitized her. Mental walls went up to save what was left of her sanity. She couldn't cry ten times a day. When news reporters asked her the most horrifying of questions with nonchalance, she had to keep it together. She did not cry like she wanted to.

Days went past. Interviews stopped, paperwork dwindled. Keepsakes of her past with the children were ripped from all but her memory, photos taken from her as evidence. The question remained, where to go?

She couldn't stay here and be depressed. Milla didn't live in the past. Neither could she leave this place, where her most precious and horrible memories lay. Pacing, talking with her mother, and debating with herself eventually led to one conclusion: this was all too much. She needed to sit down, cry, mourn, pick herself up, and go on with life. Instead she left to become a Psychonaut, and went back to being her old self.

Rumors abound that the happy, carefree Milla was an act. It wasn't. Milla didn't have a care in the world because she'd left her cares behind her. Some people hide in glares and snaps and lies. She hid in laughter and dancing and making herself so happy the world would never suspect what had happened. She made friends with everyone, knew everyone, took every mission offered. She talked with Sasha during work and a million other friends on the phone off work. She went places. She baked. She painted. She made colorful clothes. She laughed. And it was her, all her, the real her. She had always been upbeat and happy. This was no act. This was the real and true Milla Vodello.

Beneath that was a layer of emotionally empathic genius and a streak of improvisitional flare unsurpassed in her field. Most people were so stunned by that layer they couldn't believe gentle Milla was a fierce Agent. So no one ever saw the layer beneath _that_.

At night she was haunted by nightmares. She would wake up screaming fit to wake the dead, eyes wide and hands shaking. She would pace and rub her arms and distract herself in any way possible until morning came. A strong cup of coffee later, she was fine. For years she dealt with the visions of the fire, of the screaming. Oh, they screamed until that moment it went horribly silent. One by one they had gone silent and taken away a bit of herself. She wanted to sob. She couldn't. So she got Sasha to help her put the nightmares away. He hadn't asked her too many questions. He knew what a painful subject this was. Away they went, and Agent Nein swore not to tell a soul.

But for all her nights of peaceful sleep, she would wake up some nights and simply shake and feel cold.

One such night, freshly rebrained, she walked to the beach and found a man there. He was crying. She sat down beside him, though he stood tall above her, and she offered no greeting to him. He told her of her problems anyway. Of how he set ablaze a building and how the children died and how sorry he is.

Her heart stoppred and her head pounded. She should kill him. She should be furious at him. She should agree with the psychologists that it's all his fault and thus hate him. She should do _something_, her brain screams. Hit him, yell at him, curse at him in a foreign tongue. Blame him. Make him feel guilty. Hurt him. Something.

She looked at him. At the tears streaking down his face and the pain in his eyes.

And she whispered to him, "I understand," and he collapsed beside her to put his head in his hands and cry further.

Milla entwined her hands in his, bringing them away from his head, and they sat in quiet silence. Unconsciously, she scooted closer to him, and then suddenly she was crying. She cried into his shirt, sobbed, told him what happened to her. The details spilled forth like a tidal wave. His surprised arms wrapped around her and stayed there for an hour. Her story was enough to stop his tears and drop his jaw.

"It was all my fault," she murmured, "If I had been there..."

"I'm sorry," he said, really looking it. "I'm so sorry."

But it was all okay as she buried herself against him and drifted off to sleep in the wee morning hours.

She'd finally really mourned, really let herself be both happy Milla and sad, hurting Milla. She was finally going to be alright because nothing was bottled within anymore. Her head no longer pounded. Her hands ceased their shaking and she smiled, faintly, weakly. She would be alright now.

She had finally let herself cry.


	63. DogenSquirrels

AN: I'm not sure what's weirder: the fact this was requested, or the fact that I wrote this. Either way, wow. Just, simply, wow.

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When he was five, his mom hit him.

The blows weren't that hard, but it was the malice behind them, the seething glares from her once loving eyes, that scarred Dogen. He'd just made someone's head explode. It was the first time. It was an accident. He cried and told her so. She didn't listen and slapped him repeatedly until he was quiet. Then she ran into her room. Dogen was left alone in the kitchen, not understanding what was wrong. It was an accident. She'd said she'd always forgive him for accidents because he didn't mean it. Now she was to upset to talk. He got up, and waddled out the door just to have something to do. A squirrel was outside, having seen the ordeal through the window. They stared at each other for a long moment before the squirrel jumped on him, and he held it and cried.

When he was six, his mom didn't feed him anymore.

Dogen always got together spare change for a school lunch. It was plain and not too tasty, but it was all he had. His mother had changed. She didn't do things she used to. The house was getting messy and the fridge was empty. She had plenty of money for her own food, of course. Six dollar coffee was a staple of her diet. She just had no money for him, and Dogen was painfully aware of this fact. He would search the playground, the sidewalks, the floors, anywhere he could to get money for lunch. And he always took seconds. The only thing keeping him from going insane was the fact that, somehow, amazingly, the squirrels always seemed to have spare change for him.

When he was seven, his mom didn't speak to him anymore.

The awkward silence rolled through the house. The first few days, he asked her if she had a sore throat. If maybe she needed tea or cough drops or something. She didn't respond. She walked away from him quite pointedly each time. She didn't ask him how his day was or what he learned in school. She didn't even give him instructions on when to be home. She was a silent pariah, and he couldn't reach her now that he'd made three more people's heads explode. So he started talking to squirrels. Dogs were too big and scary. Cats were mean. Squirrels listened to him talk each day, and though some of them grew tired of his chatter, they didn't leave him. All he had was them. They knew it. They let him talk and gave the woman tiny squirrel glares.

When he was eight, he didn't go to school anymore for a while.

His mom hadn't paid any of the bills lately. Electric, water, anything. She was beginning to spend hours in her room, doing her make up and hair. Then redoing them again and again. Then again. Dogen was scared, but he couldn't focus on it too long. There was a gas station that had been built four blocks away; he got junk food cheap there. Full meals. He was doing okay. He wished he knew what was wrong with his mommy, though. He wasn't even being ignored now. It was like she didn't see him, or saw through him. Dogen knew on some level that something was really wrong. He just didn't know where to go to get help. The hospital wasn't it, because his mom wasn't sick. The police were out because they scared him. That left... No one, actually. Dogen's knowledge of the world was very limited.

The squirrels knew what to do, though. They got change, they guided him to a payphone, and they had him dial a number. When the person on the other end answered, even though it had been years, he recognized the voice.

"Daddy?"

The next few hours were a blur. The house had cockroaches, mice, rats and mold inside. It was so bad the police said he couldn't go in there while they got his mom out. They talked to him, asked when this had all started and how his mom was. Then she was gone and his dad picked him up. He was very different from his mom. He spoke softly. He talked to him with genuine interest. He brought his son dinner from home. But before Dogen laid back and basked in it all, in being loved and in home cooked biscuits and gravy, he glanced back at the squirrels. They were watching him with unreadable expressions. He waved. Their tails twitched in unison. Dogen smiled.

When he was ten, he went to Whispering Rock.

He'd been so far away from squirrels in his dad's apartment in New York. It was okay, though. He had lots of food and his dad always asked him how he was doing. His dad got him his hat and a real bed and every toy he could ever want. The only thing he couldn't get was a squirrel. He was allergic to fur. But he had signed his only child up for Whispering Rock, out in the wilderness. A chance to use his powers and be near nature. Dogen went happily, if a little nervously. There was a bus, but his dad drove him there himself anyway. His dad did that kind of thing often. He didn't leave until he was sure Dogen was settled in and knew all the camp counselors and was going to be okay. Then he reluctantly left, promising to call every day.

And then Dogen spotted the first squirrel, and had tried to talk to it. But it didn't hug him or give him change or even look at him. It just said, "The tiny man is going to kill everyone" over and over again.

Over the course of the morning, all them did that. It was kind of mean. Then it just got to be annoying. After that point it was infuriating. _City squirrels are better,_ he told them, glaring. He tried telling them he wasn't going to kill anyone. They didn't listen. These squirrels were dumb. Dumb and loud and mean. Before he could help it, he blew them up and stormed off. He would've complained to someone (maybe Milla) about how the squirrels were here, except that when he got to his cabin, a squirrel was sitting there. It hopped onto his head, and he smiled as it snuggled into the tinfoil.

When he was ten, he still loved squirrels.

Just not the lying ones.


	64. PhoebeMaloof

"Phoebe, look, this is a little awkward, but, um," Maloof sat down heavily on a bench in the Main Lodge, "I'm scared."

"Yeah, and?" she asked casually, taking a break from drumming to eat a hamburger. "So am I."

He blinked. "But you have all that firepower!"

"That doesn't mean I'm not scared, Maloof. I had my brain taken out by a mad dentist and Quentin is still missing. I'm terrified," she admitted as she sat there, staring contemplatively into her hamburger's dark recesses. "Everyone probably is, unless they're making out."

"You don't look scared," the boy noted, golden brown eyes taking her in. "You look calm."

"You can be both," she grinned, then her expression shifted to a gentle, warm smile at his expression. "It'll be okay, Maloof."

"Okay?! Sasha is gone and Milla is gone and there's psychic death bears and evil cougars out there! Not to mention the lake monster! There's no working telephones and the nearest town is miles away. What if no help comes? What if someone's hurt? What if Mikhail is hurt and no one can help him? It's all my fault for making him my bodyguard and having him go ahead of me. His brain is out there in the hands of a madman and it's all...my...fault."

As he spoke, his words grew less angry. More concerned. His tone softened. His hands shook a little and Phoebe could've sworn she saw him shed a tear, though she couldn't quite see in the dim lighting of the Lodge. His eyes were worried. His face was tired. A few hours ago they had barely known each other's names, but now Phoebe got a glimpse into who he was. He wasn't all about money like she'd thought. He cared about people. One person, most of all. Now Mikhail was out there somewhere and Maloof couldn't do a thing.

Before she even thought about it, she wrapped her arms around him, a smooth motion honed by having five little sisters at home. He was shorter than her, and he fit in her embrace perfectly. One hand settled on his back, the other, on the back of his neck. Think, Phoebe, she told herself. What was most comforting to her sibs? She gently stroked his hair and hummed faintly, not sure if this worked as well on boys.

Maloof, for his part, buried himself into her shoulder. He was not going to cry, darnit, even as she sang a song he didn't know into his ear. He didn't want to be scared and freak out and cry. He just wanted to tell Mikhail he was sorry. Before he knew it, he wrapped his arms around her. He missed his big brothers right now. His dad, too. They'd know what to do. They'd be calm and cool automatically. He couldn't be that way to save his life. Phoebe's arms drew him closer.

"It'll be okay, Maloof. Raz is going to get everyone's brains back."

"How can you be so sure?" he asked quietly. "I mean, you haven't done research or anything..."

Ugh, Maloof and market research. She smiled down at him. "He brought back our brains. I believe in him."

"I wish I could believe in something," he muttered, leaning into her. He'd never had a mother, but he was fairly sure this warm feeling was what a mother's hug was like. As she looked down on him with her chocolate brown eyes, though, he _did_ believe in something. Her. "I'm really scared."

"It'll be okay."

She didn't call him a wuss. She didn't call him a pansy or tell him not to be scared or freak out. The older girl merely held him close, like a mother, and hummed a tune for a while. If it had been anyone else who did this to him, for him, he would have gone beat red with embarrassment. But Phoebe had the kind of calming, motherly presence that made this okay. He wasn't embarrassed at all to cry a little and then slowly fall asleep in her arms, her warm, humming body all comfort he needed. He sagged against her, her arms holding him in place as she smiled faintly, sending Raz the strongest telepathic message she could muster, one he heard, miles away in the asylum.

Bring everyone back safely, Raz.

We're all scared.


	65. RazRainbow Squirt

AN: PsychoDirector, if I might have a word with you. I want you to know I am only doing this because I have to, because I promised myself to write every request. Your capslock, panic filled review was a bit insulting, as was your fear of an M rated fic. Three chapters in this thing have had M rated situations, but you acted as if it was a given the writing would be horribly perverted. Between that, your capslock, and the generally over the top way in which you requested last time, I would like it if you laid off requests until you can review in a non insulting, calm manner. Thank you.

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He was so dreamy.

Those locks of wine red hair. That tan, with the cute little extra bit of color at the nose. Oh, his eyes. Those were the best. The large, luminous, gentle green eyes that he pulled his goggles over quickly. In that moment, she knew she'd seen his secret, and nobody else was supposed to see. Giggling, feeling giddy, she watched him walk in and out of houses. Confused. Searching. A foreign boy with green eyes. She could swoon.

She could see he wasn't normal. He was someting else, with his powers and his speed and his acrobatic jumps. He was whimiscal, he was magical. He was tough, he was frightened of mailboxes. He was soft spoken and loud. He was so unreal to her. She wanted to talk to him, something not cookie related. But her words failed her when she saw him. He flew through the air, he flew underground. He got arrested. He came back.

She'd tell him, one day, she told herself.

She followed him, half doing her job as a spy and half staring at him longingly. His rail thin, long armed and long legged body was fascinating. She watched the way he moved and how he always seemed to have a purpose. Her throat felt dry. At one point he turned invsible, only to reappear later. She followed. Darnit, she told her brain, speak. Say something. A spy was supposed to have confidence. She should be able to walk up to him and say hi.

Instead her lips only formed murmurs, her eyes could not meet his, and she ended up awkwardly tagging along behind him. He probably thought she was stupid, or a stalker, or both. He probably thought she was insane. In truth she was captivated, but he didn't know that. The beautiful boys, she theorized, didn't know they were beautiful. He was utterly handsome and utterly weird. A fine catch for any girl; an especially fine boy for her first crush. She nearly swooned when he brushed against her, then shrieked when, in a flash of fury, he hit her and ran. She didn't move, didn't hate him, merely followed.

Even if he hated her, she'd always think he was dreamy.


	66. BeckyBonita

Becky will never tell Bonita she's pretty.

She will never coddle her. She won't rush to her aid with waves of sympathy, like the minor, unimportant actors do. She won't nod understandingly when Bonita cries for no reason for the tenth time that day, nor will she even notice. There will not be a big hug or even so much as an encouraging smile, because even though everyone else bows at Bonita's feet, Becky took a year and a half to remember the other woman's name. She could care less if Bonita is throwing her umpteenth drama fit. She's busy keeping the whole theater going.

She never lets Bonita break the rules. Rehearsal is at eight till three and if Bonita can't be there, well, screw Bonita. There's no shortage of actresses waiting to take her job from right out under her feet, and Becky isn't going to wait for a prima doma all day. Nor is Becky going to let Bonita have coffee, tea, or anything else on stage. Rules are rules and they apply to Bonita just as much as anyone else. The star actress still remembers Becky pouring that five dollar latte onto the ground with disdain. Star treatment, ha! Bonita's never been so normal in her life. Becky even drew up an extra set of rules that Bonita needed to follow and pasted it - not nailed, not tacked, PASTED it - onto the star's door. Now the actress couldn't even walk into her own dressing room without being reminded that caffeine was bad for her complexion.

The only time Bonita ever really appreciates Becky's over planning is when she kicks out suitors. Bonita, for all her pride and snootiness, cannot take being flirted with. Her mind runs on empty. Her mouth goes dry. And she wants to say something elegant before her carefully cultivated mysterious actress persona crashes down around her. Thankfully Becky will always grab the unfortunate men and haul them out of the theater, despite being not even five feet tall. The fury of a stage manager was not something to be taken lightly. But while Bonita always pouted, acting disappointed, she was actually relieved that she hadn't been given a chance to make a fool out of herself. Becky is a lifesaver.

Becky is also totally lacking on compliments. Bonita's not used to that. She's used to being praised and given a thousand compliments. She's lucky to get a smile or perhaps a smirk out of the redheaded stage manager. It baffles her. Is she not pretty enough? For Christ's sake, she glows in the spotlight and she's got blonde hair down to the floor! What more could the woman want? Bonita isn't used to having to actually do work to get noticed. For months, though, Becky didn't even speak to her other than to tell her to do something different. This line was one word off, raise your arms higher, don't bat your eyelashes dramatically. No matter what, each performance had a tiny microflaw, and Becky always picked it out. The blonde could scream. God, she wishes Becky would just be a normal director and smile approvingly at her while telling her she's pretty.

Instead, she grudgingly realizes, Becky has been helpful. High strung, annoying as hell, and uptight, but damn if Bonita's ever performed better in her life. She wants to hate the director, she just can't. She's never been so close to normal actors before. She's never been honestly critiqued before. She hasn't ever been without caffeiene this long before. Oh, she hates this, she tells everyone. She's far too good of a muse for this. Inside, she's smiling and happier than she's been in years. The world seems so normal now, the steady routine making her life managable again. Her performances have never gotten such applause, and it's because of Becky.

Becky won't bend rules for her. Becky won't let Bonita be swooned over. She won't call Bonita the prettiest thing in the world.

She'll make her feel pretty instead.


	67. BobbyMilka

I don't like to feel dumb, okay?

I'm so sick of people making fun of me. Just because I lisp a little, I gotta be an idiot? Just cause I got bad teeth, I don't know anything? I'm not stupid, you're stupid! I get C's in school with an A in math because I'm good like that. I'm smarter than these stupid losers at this stupid camp. Everyone acts like I don't know anything, like I can't figure out how to row a canoe by myself. Well, screw you people!

I'm strong. Nobody can make fun of me there. I'm stronger than everyone except maybe stupid Raz. I can fire more Psybeams, I can make more stuff burn, and I can levitate longer than most kids. I'm the strong man around here. I can even run faster than the other kids, and we're on a freaking mountain! The only thing I can't do really well is go invisible for very long. Milka's the best at that. Thankfully Milka isn't a bitch like Chloe was about it. All Chloe ever did was try and give me instructions on that, like I was an idiot. I'm glad I'm better at her in telekinesis.

Why can't more girls be like Milka? She doesn't run around bragging and sneering at me like they do. She actually knows how to freaking listen. She does! She knows I'm smart, and when she tried to defend me, Kitty called her fat and told her to shut up. Stupid rich girl, I hope she has fun looking for her make up at the bottom of Lake Oblongata. She's just jealous because I'm better than her at everything and Milka's better than her at invisibility. Milka is quiet and nice and stuff. The other girls just don't get it.

I don't blame Milka for going invisible. The other girls are stupid. Kitty is stupid, Franke is stupid-er for following her around, and Elka's just plain pathetic. If I were a girl, I wouldn't wanna hang out with them. Those morons probably can't even spell invisible because they're so busy being stupid and shallow. I think Milka might be taking a break from the boring, hiding out and stuff.

But it's cool, I won't tell on her. I just hang out with her and she stays invisible talking to me and it's all good. It's not like I have a crush on her or something, though. Shut up, you're stupid.

Milka makes life seem less dumb, okay?


	68. ElkaMikhail

She got tired of Nils.

So many break ups, so much crawling back to each other. Cheating, lying, writing angry poems, arguing, fighting, all out wars against each other on their MySpace pages, and then the flipside. Calls, promises, apologies, hugs, kisses. The constant whirlwind of drama all around her was too much. It had always been too much, she now realized, but she'd seen it differently when she was younger. When she was ten, she'd confused the hurricane of emotions as real love and thought all couples had their problems. She thought his apologies were real and this was really the very last time they'd argue. As a child, she'd seen this relationship through a fairy tale's light, and now she couldn't do that anymore. Now she had to get out of this.

She didn't hold onto that hopeful dream of staying friends. They'd been too close, too intimate, to ever be okay just being friends. There was a time she really loved him. Once she broke up with him this time, they weren't going to be able to pretend things were okay and hang out. She took everything he had given her or left at her house and put it in a box. She deleted every image of him she owned. She took his number off speed dial on her cellphone, all the while steeling herself for the hard part: meeting him in person.

He shouted. He waved his arms. He prepared for this to be just another fight in their series of fights.

She just hugged him, one last time, and told him softly, "Not this time, Nils. This time, it's really over. I'm sorry."

And off she went, her arms missing the weight of the box of things. Nils picked through the box remorsefully behind her, but she didn't turn to look. She wanted to. She also wanted to run all the way home. Instead, she forced herself to calmly walk forward. The moment was surreal. It took her a block and a half to realize what she'd done. She hoped he didn't hate her. Thank God, though, it was over. All this drama was over, and she could breathe easily again for the first time in years.

Was it wrong to feel so relieved? Was it bad she couldn't stop the small smile that had worked it's way onto her face? She knew no one else would partake in this joy. Everyone was so used to her dumping him and him dumping her that by now, they'd just shrug it off. No one expected this to last as a break up. Even Nils probably just thought she'd come back to him. She wouldn't, though. She refused to. It was time for Elka to move on and have fun again. Ever since Nils became her boyfriend, every day had just been endless arguments or making out. Where had her hobbies gone? Where had the fun gone? It was just simply the right time for this. She couldn't wait any longer for this to magically work out somehow. Maybe it was wrong to feel so happy, but she didn't care. She was free.

In the following weeks, Nils called. He begged. He asked what he'd done wrong. He threatened to give away all the secrets she'd confided in him. He cried. He screamed. She deleted his messages, did not pick up the phone, and began to take long walks outside the house, leaving her cellphone behind. She hung out with Milka. She hung out with Kitty and Franke. She even spent one evening with Lili, playing video games against each other. She talked to other girls on the phone. She helped decorate her school's gym for some stupid dance. Nils could plead and beg all he wanted. She was not there to hear it.

She'd never been so happy. It was fun talking to shy, thoughtful Milka about boys and love. It was interesting and wonderful to see the other girl open up. It made her giddy to go shopping, running from place to place for hours, with Kitty and Franke. She'd never laughed so much or been so tired at the end of the day. It had been forever since she'd been challenged at video games, but Lili could give her a run for her money any day of the week. Elka suddenly found herself with much more energy now that all her time wasn't devoted to boyfriend drama. She gladly decorated the gym, stringing streamers everywhere and making the theme come alive. Was this what she'd been missing for so long? Was this what it was like to be normal, to be Elka instead of 'Elka and Nils'? She wanted to do everything and talk to everyone. This kind of happiness had been cut out of her life, and now she wanted it back.

In the following months, Nils just begged. He just cried. He just wanted her to be his again, even as he checked out girls left and right. She'd hurt him. Maybe beneath the make out sessions and the screaming, she'd meant something to him. She still did not return his calls. She didn't go on a pity date with him. Every time she felt bad, she remembered how they'd been before. He'd get over this, with time. They both had to. She couldn't go on with this bad relationship because she felt bad for him - and she felt less bad for him each day. Now that they weren't dating, both their flaws became apparent. They'd both been so childish and stupid. She started dating four months after their break up.

To her surprise, she found she could be much more positive now. Benny was nervous, yes, but also very sweet in his shyness. Bobby had bad teeth, yet he knew everything there was to know about sports and in one date she learned more from him than she ever knew before. Elton was a bit sea obsessed. He was also a gentleman. JT forgave her for her using him when she apologized in a very un-Elka-like, soft spoken manner. He wasn't for her, she realized on their date, he was just a good friend. A wonderful friend, in fact. Chops was much the same.

Then she went out on a date with Mikhail. And she'd thought _Elton_ was a gentleman! Mikhail bowed to her, pulled out her chair at the resturant, opened doors for her, and paid attention to everything she said. He was a good listener and a soft speaker. The opposite of Nils, his quiet, controlled charm was irresistable. So many kids looked at him and were intimidated by his height and the fact that he was on the wrestling team. Beyond that, he was polite. Polite, gentle, humurous. His quiet chuckle was contaigous. Dear lord, all these years he'd been right under her nose and she was wasting her time with Nils?! Elka called Mikhail the next morning for a second date. His flustered, clearly pleased and half embarrassed voice made her smile.

Mikhail would never beg or whine or scream. He was too calm for that. Yeah, she missed Nils. But it was time to move on and find someone mature. Someone who had some kind of dignity. She regretted each date with Nils before it was over. She never regretted dating Mikhail, not on their one week anniversary or their one month anniversary. By the time they'd been together a year, Nils had stopped calling and she had forgotten how to frown.

No matter what, she'd never get tired of Mikhail.


	69. FrankeCrystal

I loved her from the first day she called me 'girlfriend' in her almost-not-quite-valley-girl voice.

I don't much about love, so I can't make up a bunch of pretty metaphors about her. I can't make up lots of neat prose about how pretty she is or how brave she is. I can't cheer for her 'cause my tongue gets stuck in my mouth when I think about her. Franke isn't the kind of girl I think anyone thought I'd be in love with. She's just so perfect, so flawless. I never knew anything could be so without flaws. She didn't hate me, she didn't love me. Franke was all about her friend Kitty and making friendship bracelets. I don't know much about love, but I know I fell for that sweet quietness.

It's so nice to have a quiet girl who isn't all silent like Milka. It's so nice to have someone who will laugh at everyone's jokes and who doesn't hate cheering. I don't think of her as perfection so much as niceness. Gentleness. Kitty was always the harsh one, the mean one, the cruel one. Franke didn't leave her, though. Franke was a best friend forever, _forever_. They'd met when they were five. Everyone else I've known gives up on their friends way before now. But Franke was different. She was nice and loyal. Dedicated. She'd be a quiet, supporting, laughing best friend forever until time ends.

I wished she was mine. I wished she could be my best friend. I wished we could laugh together and make bracelets together. I wish I could eat with her, run around with her. She was never not friendly to me. If only I could've been a bit braver and told her how wonderful I thought she was, maybe she might've been my friend. My mouth would dry up though, and my heart would race, and then I couldn't talk to her. She probably thought I was a nerd, but she didn't say anything. Franke didn't put people on the spot like Kitty did. That was the thing about her that made me love her. She wouldn't hurt me like all the other girls had, I knew.

Franke asked me if I was okay on the roof. When I said yes, she asked, "Aren't you afraid of heights? You must be wicked brave, Crystal."

And I blushed and grinned because I never felt brave before. When she spoke to me I felt brave and pretty and exotic, humbled at how in awe she sounded. Franke made my whole day better with that simple little thing. She always could do that, her and nobody else. Nobody else took the time to talk to me. Even as she ran off to search for Kitty, she'd just paid more attention to me than anyone had in weeks. I felt pretty and brave, really happy just for a moment.

When she found out I had tried to kill myself, before I could say anything else, she said she'd get Kitty to do a cover up. If the adults didn't know they wouldn't make Clem and I go to hospitals. They couldn't force therapy down our throat if they couldn't catch us. I could have cried (and Clem actually did) with relief. Saved by the grace of Franke's valley girl brain doing damage control. If she hadn't helped us, there's no telling what would've happened. It wouldn't have been good, that was for sure. But Franke shrugged off my thanks, kissed me on the cheek, and told me, "No problem, girlfriend. Here's my number; just call me if you need anything, okay?"

Other people might say, 'if Franke loved you, she'd have called 911'.

I say, Franke loves me, so she lets me call her.


	70. CrullerSheegor

She was not pretty anymore.

She was during her younger days. Her hair was once straight and blonde, falling smoothly to her shoulders. At one point she'd only had the smallest curve to her back, nothing like it was now. She'd been good looking once upon a time, and she'd been confident because of that. She'd been loud and giggly and sweet in her younger days. She had been the kind of girl who stood out in a crowd. She had been the kind of girl who _liked_ standing out in a crowd.

Not now. Years with Laboto had made her different. Her hair was the first to respond to not having showers anymore. It twisted, it turned, it went white, then it started coming in gray. Her back was ruined by the horrible bed she slept on and Laboto making her head go down so often. Insults, glares, threatening her turtle - it soon became better to look at the floor, and then there went her posture. She knew her looks were slowly going downhill, and it made her quieter. A bit more shy and less giggly. She became the kind of woman who didn't like being around people.

Not that anyone could blame her. The asylum was filled with lunatics and jerks. As the year went by, a couple of them died, and Sheegor was sad to bury them. That didn't make the living ones any more bearable. In the beginning there were firestarters, telekinetics and one man who went invisible all the time. There were escape attempts (not that she could blame them on that one), both the insane kind that didn't have a prayer and the well thought out ones that nearly worked. Everyone always complained to her, asked her for things, and ultimately it was Sheegor's fault if someone didn't have something. Oh, yeah, she didn't like people anymore. The people here weren't worth liking at all.

When Sasha had offered her a job as his lab assistant, she'd been speechless. When he handed her a contract an hour later, she'd cried and hugged him. Finally she would work with a sane person who didn't set her on fire. He even let her take his bed that first night, as he had work to do and she was tired. Sheegor was in heaven. A real bed. A real job. Sasha Nein. For the first time in years, she fell asleep easily and happily.

The next day, however, brought a whole batch of insecurities. She looked in the mirror for the first time in years and just _cringed_. She looked awful. Would anyone in the world ever want to be near her? Maybe her appearance was what had scared the inmates away from the top floors. Sighing, she waddled off to find Sasha and give him some coffee. (He looked like a black coffee person, didn't he?)

It was then, after Sasha happily grabbed his coffee from her, that she bumped into Ford Cruller. She recognized who he was, and felt an immediate blush cross her cheeks, but stayed silent.

"Who's this?" he asked to Sasha.

"Sheegor. My new lab assistant. She knows quite a lot about brains and recranialization."

"My, and so cute, too," Ford mumbled, then caught himself, "Well, Sheegor, bring some more coffee. It fuels the mind, and we've all got work to do!"

"Yes, sir," she chirped, and ran to keep the smile on her face from showing.

Oh, dear lord, she was too old for crushes. He was so handsome and regal, though. He was a Psychonaut, brave and strong. Probably really smart, too. Sheegor practically skipped to the Main Lodge. One of the most wonderful men in the world thought she was cute. She hummed while she made coffee, sang tunelessly while she got the mugs. Suddenly the day seemed a whole lot brighter. Sheegor smiled while she walked. Sure, she wasn't pretty anymore.

But she much preferred being cute, anyway.


	71. BoydMilk

AN: Okay, I gotta admit, I just really wanted a poem chapter. XD

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Milk. Where do you come from?

There are no cows.

Did the cows send you?

You're 'vitamin enriched'. How?

Milk, so white and cool

And _sent by the government_!

Er, I meant fresh.

Fresh is what I meant.

I know Abraham Lincoln

Has sent you to destroy me

And I study you

Hoping to find the key.

Who is the Milkman?

Where does the milk come from?

You don't answer.

You don't run.

You are milk.

So simple, yet I know

About the aliens and tractors

Behind why your bottle's so low.

I wish to lick you, dearest milk

Does that seem strange?

I think I saw you smile.

Maybe I'm deranged.

I know you are evil

Milk made of death and doom

But no matter how crowded my fridge,

for you, there's always room.

Milk. Where do you come from?

There are no cows.

Did the cows send you?

You're 'vitamin enriched'. How?

Milk, milky milk so white pure.

You're mine now!


	72. CrispinLaboto

Crispin's not the kind of man to go trouncing up to his superior's office to sweep his off his feet like this whole thing is a paperback romance novel.

Ugh, romance. Not his forte, not at all. It never had been, even as a school lad when the whole idea still appealed to him. He just didn't understand why some people got it in their heads love meant kisses and hugs and over dramatic poems. It all crumpled on them, anyway. Relationships built on that didn't have a lot of love to them. Not that most people knew what love meant - Crispin did, though. So even if she despised the idea of being in love, he'd have to say, he was pretty godamn good at it.

He never all those gestures that worked on girls, flowers and candy and the like, wouldn't work on a grown man. Crispin brainstormed. His mother had once said love was about doing things for someone. Well, then, Crispin was superb at love. He guarded the elevator, he kept the inmates fed and cleaned as best as his bad eyesight allowed. He was not shy to say he was very good at his job as it stood right now, and completely recovered from his past problems. He even helped the doctor on a few experiments now and again. That much of this 'love' business was covered.

Then again, as he looked around, he found more things that needed doing. Cleaning, getting Edgar more paint, keeping the lunatics warm through the winter, keeping the rats out of the courtyard, and trying to get the stains out of the elevator more than took up his time. God, this place was crumbling. An utter pig sty. Dr. Laboto deserved better, but it had been free, so Crispin supposed the building was worth it. As long as the doctor was happy here, Crispin would at least try to keep it orderly and neat. He may not have really wanted this job at the start. That didn't mean he had to make an ass of himself and let the place go to hell like Fred had. Crispin kept himself busy through the long hours of the days, and days became months.

When months became a year, Laboto called him into his office and thanked him, personally, for his hard work. Crispin felt proud and just asked if there was anything else. Nothing, Laboto had laughed, because he'd done everything else! Why not relax for a little bit, have some wine? Crispin accepted, thankful to be off his bloody feet for once. The doctor was a brilliant man. An odd laugh, however Crispin had just as odd of one, so he kept quiet. Why on Earth any of the inmates had the nerve to call him mad, he'd never understand. Laboto was absolutely charming.

He was serious about Crispin working too hard, though, and the younger man found himself being given breaks each day. It was nice to escape the myriad of stupidity and insanity behind him. The cold air of the night and the warm sunshine of the day kept his spirits up. Laboto truly was a genius - a break did him good. It was nice to have a bit of calm. He spent the time picturing the doctor in his mind, even though he hated the action. What was he, a lovesick school boy? This was getting to be quite the regular crush, he realized. It was hard for it not to be, though, when Laboto was so close all the time.

But he wouldn't let himself tell the other man. He wasn't going to ruin what he had going for him. That was the kind of weak hearted thing lesser men did. Real men, like Crispin, sucked it up and did their jobs. He wasn't ever going to kiss Laboto or tell him he loved him. He would just make life as easy as possible for the other man, and do his job as best he could for all his life.

After all, this isn't a romance novel.


	73. MilkhailA Bear

Everybody made fun of his accent.

Mikhail hated it. In his childhood, before he was old enough for teenage girls to find his voice exotic and enticing, they laughed at him. The name calling stopped once he took down a cougar in plain sight of the camp populous. They still talked about him behind his back, though. Bobby called him a foreigner and a communist. Kitty called him Captain Speech Impedement while Franke laughed. He could hear them everywhere he went before they spotted him. Then they were quiet, polite and friendly. Then, however, it was too late.

Truth be told, he couldn't give a damn about the bear. The bear was just a cover up at this point to try and get away from his fellow campers. All he wanted was for them to just treat him like he was normal. That was the whole point of coming here. That was the whole point of leaving his room this summer. He'd much rather just stay inside and play until school started and he could go onto the wrestling team. Instead he was here, running from his problems by following the bear.

He knew where it was. He just didn't go find the bear, because then he'd have nothing else to do. He had to stay out here as long as he could. Mikhail took this whole dreadful camp one hour, one minute at a time. Time was dragging slowly as it was. To have nothing to do would just be hell on Earth.

So why, then, did he very pointedly march away from the forest by the GPC, away from the bear?

Simple: he was getting a bit too into this. He had spent hours and hours watching the bear. It was sleek and small, rounder than others. Its fur was dark violet, not shining in the light so much as absorbing it. The movements were so fluid, so light and smooth, that it appeared to be floating. The blinking, beady eyes were mesmerizing. It turned its ears towards him, perhaps sensing something, and Mikhail culdn't help but smile. It was simply fascinating.

He couldn't look away. He watched the way it walked, the flawless motion of muscles beneath fur. He saw it eat grass with teeth that could kill him. The teeth were amazingly bright, glinting in the faint sunlight, and Mikhail's heart fluttered. Whether it was out of fear or something else, he didn't know. He was admittedly half afraid of the animal. He was also in utter adoration of it. The tiny, cutesy tail, the rounded ears, the wiggling nose - was there anything not to love? He couldn't help but wish he could take it home. A wrestling partner, finally, every day. A strong one with a bit of cuteness who could eat the lawn to keep it trim. He grinned; he'd never have to mow the lawn again if he just had this fascinating creature with him all the time.

It was at about this time it dawned on him he was attracted. To a bear. Three seconds later, the panic set in. Oh, God, his parents were right. He'd gone insane from not being social, or something. Damnit, he needed to wrestle something right now. No time for that, though. No, he was going to go find the nearest campers. Before he could even help it, he was running like hell for the parking lot, his body sweating out a nervous sweat. What was _wrong_ with him? He had to get out of here, and was eternally grateful for the distract Maloof provided.

Let all the kids make fun of his goofy accent.

Better that than crushing on a _bear_.


	74. MikhailSasha

When he first fell for Sasha, it was just a crush.

The confidence Sasha radiated drew him in. The man was bold, easing his way around the system. He dodged the laws of psychic children were supposed to do, and talked only of what they _could_ do. He stood his ground against the rage of Oleander and the shocked indignancy of Milla. He trained Quentin in levitation, Nils in clairvoyance, and Mikhail in telekinesis. It didn't matter if all of them were underage. He believed in them, and his confidence spurred them on to greatness.

Of course he fell for him. Sasha was exotic, foreign and commanding. His confidence was only outmatched by his intelligence. Everyone got better in Sasha's classes. Mikhail watched him with fascination as the man used (and seemed to have mastered) every psychic power they knew. He was so flawlessly secure in his psychic ability that no one ever felt unsafe in his class. How could they? He could handle anything, and Mikhail believed him to be capable of anything. His charm was too much for the ten year old to bare. He loved the man for weeks before he admitted it to himself.

When he fell for Sasha a second time, it was puppy love.

He was fourteen and attending the Russian branch of Psychonauts Academy. Sasha looked not much older than before, save for a few wrinkles around his eyes and the tiniest bits of grey at the roots of his hair. He waltzed into their Teleportation class one day, speaking perfectly accented Russian. Mikhail was staring shamelessly at the man as he took total command of them for the next semester. He was still cool and controlled, brimming with confidence. Now Mikhail began to wish he was the same, so he could say something to him that didn't sound stupid.

Sasha's control was captivating. He didn't flinch when a student thre paper at him. The paper ball froze in mid air, then burst into flame and hurtled in the unfortunate student's direction. Sasha Nein didn't care if someone was younger than him or not. They were going to act like mature adults or he was going to quietly make fools out of them. There would be no arguments, no spats between students, no disorder, and no messy desks. This was Sasha's private boot camp. Mikhail loved it, loved how the older man could silence a room with a look or make them line up with a gesture. No other teacher could do this.

He was handsome, too. How on Earth had Mikhail ever overlooked that as a child? Sasha was handsome in ways other men could only dream of being. His cool, smooth voice and dark, razorcut hair were enough to get more than one girl swooning. His smile was always a bit like a smirk, and his laugh was deepfelt. He was simply charming, really, beneath all the rumors about his past missions. A dangerous man he was, to be sure, but he was still good looking. The kind of charm he had could only be enhanced by his looks.

When he fell for Sasha the third time, it was really love.

He was twenty. Sasha was his partner. Mikhail had climbed through the ranks of Psychonauts, kicking butt and taking names with the longest, strongest telekinesis known to man. Milla had retired, tired of being an Agent, to become a dancer. Then, before he knew it, there was Sasha at his doorstep. To say he felt apprehensive about the whole idea was understatement.

To say it worked wonderfully was an understatement as well. They were a wonderful combination of physical and mental strength, diplomacy and brutality. Some thought their differences would rip them apart. Those people had forgotten Sasha had been spent years with Milla, his other polar opposite. There were no problems with Agent Nein, he discovered, because Sasha wouldn't let there be a problem. Every argument was solved and apologized for, every snide remark warranted an explanation, and every time they felt awkward around each other, they went out and drank until they were best buddies again.

Age only made Sasha's wit sharper and his hair a bit longer. He was much more a thinker on his feet now, something Mikhail appreciated. He was still just as charming and smart, but now, to top it off, Mikhail discovered he had a philosophical side. They often talked until late into the night, drinking coffee and thinking about life. There was a certain classiness to Sasha, Mikhail saw, that was beyond skin deep. Underneath that cool, collected surface was a complex, intricate mind filled to the brim with ideas. For the first time since he'd been at summer camp, he felt really able to talk to someone freely. Agent Nein never laughed at him.

He still had the confidence Mikhail lacked. There was bravery, blind, insane bravery, the kind of dive-into-enemy-fire type bravery Mikhail always had. He'd never been afraid of getting hurt. Social situations, on the other hand, were not his thing. Luckily Sasha's confidence never faltered, even in foreign towns filled with people he didn't know. He always knew where he was going, who to talk to, how to talk, and what to do. How on Earth anyone could be so level headed, Mikhail didn't know, though Sasha laughed it off as experience.

The fact was, though, Sasha wasn't flawless like Mikhail had envisioned him. He still lacked the ability to read a map correctly, he smoked constantly whilst proclaiming he was going to quit anyday now, and he never could figure out how to make anything over than a sandwich to eat. But Mikhail wouldn't leave his partner's side for the world.

After all, if he was a good enough partner, maybe Sasha would get a crush on him.

Now, that would just _rock_.


	75. MikhailLili

AN: Ebony Lee, this chapter is dedicated to you. Your review really made my whole morning better (it's snowing at my house, and that always depresses me when it's just barely September) so your review was like a breath of fresh air. It's neat to think my work has inspired someone. I'm really flattered, hence this incredibly long chapter. (I think it might be the longest in this fic.) I hope you like it.

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That they were in the same ninth grade French class was nothing short of a joy to him.

It had all started out so innocently, with her being ahead of the class more than a little bit. Well, in terms of insults, anyway. He'd never seen anyone pick up so many little comebacks. While everyone else was doing well to get down how to say hello or goodbye, Lili was plowing through them with a long and never ending string of one liners. Mikhail had never known someone to look up 'whiner' first thing in learning a new language, but it was indeed Lili's first French word. While the rest of his classmates did their mini language skits with plots as deep as 'hi' 'hi back!', Lili held the classes attention with a mini argument her group had written. It was an unspoken rule in class that someone should try never to overachieve in Mm. Debois' French class. Nobody told Lili, or if they did, she ignored them and soaked up French insults like a sponge.

Her favorite things to do were to call people whiners, stupid, and babies. It was the start of their bond. When fights envitably broke out in the cafeteria, she happily cheered on one side and booed the other, breaking another unspoken rule of highschool. Some days, she'd look over at Raz when using a German word that Sasha would deny ever teaching either of them, and the two would grin, a secret grin between the two of them. Other days, she'd call out something in French and look over at him with a barely contained glee. It was contaigous. It was bold. It broke the unspoken rule of never taunting an older student in a fight. Lili boldly insulted people in multiple languages, to their faces, and consequences be damned. It was the first taste he got of defiant, headstrong Lili as opposed to snarky, superior Lili. He definitely preferred the former over the latter, he decided.

Then there came the make-a-map portion of the class. Draw a neighborhood, or something familiar to you, the teacher said. Mm. Dubios regretted it when Lili, smirking and concentrating the whole way, drew a perfect map of Whispering Rock Psychic Summer Camp. There was a GPC, a Main Lodge, lots of forest, the Kid's Cabins, the lake, and mini squirrels drawn circling around a stick figure of Dogen with a tinfoil hat. Mikhail laughed, Nils demanded to know why he wasn't on the map, and the teacher confiscated it for the sake of national security. Anyone else might've been embarrassed to have a teacher glare them down like that. Lili didn't even notice as she gave Mikhail another covert smile. Make-a-map suddenly became a competetion, overnight it seemed, for who could make the most detailed map. Of course, it didn't matter. Lili's trumped theirs, and they knew it.

Everyone's favorite part of the class, Foreign Food Day (less formally known as The Teacher Brings in a Movie and We Bring Snacks, then Everyone Pretends to Have Learned Something Day) rolled by before he knew it. Mikhail watched students climb over themselves to get the incredibly easy task of bringing in eclairs to class. With that, everyone's hands fell and suddenly everyone was out of ideas for what to bring. Instantly, the class went silent, except for Lili, who gladly agreed to actually make something. As everyone else groaned, Mm. Dubois handed out assignments admist protests and whining.

"What a bunch of babies," she sighed, on hand in her head, eyes rolling. "Like baking's gonna kill them or something."

"With their weak arms? Could happen," Mikhail responded, and she chuckled, the first bit of laughter he'd ever gotten out of a girl.

Her features looked different when she laughed, he noticed. More refined, more elegant. He turned away before she caught him staring. The soft curve of her eyelashes and the gentle lift to her lips was all he could think of for the rest of the day, however. He wasn't sure which he liked more: that she was tough enough not to complain every three seconds, or that she had such soft looking hair. He guiltily glanced at Raz several times that weak, praying the other boy couldn't read his mind.

The Teacher Brings in a Movie and We Bring Snacks, then Everyone Pretends to Have Learned Something Day came. Lili made a banner that actually said as much, in French. The class snickered, the teacher glowered (but hung it up in the back, anyway), and Mikhail had to make an effort to get his jaw off the ground. He would never have dared to have done that. Certainly he'd never have stood up to the lecture Mm. Dubois gave Lili, but she rolled her eyes as she came back into the classroom, as if to say 'it was nothing'. As the class grumbled about not having enough food and everyone's favorite redhead told them to shut up, Mikhail looked over at her. She grinned and suddenly looked him in the eyes, looking like the cat that ate the canary, so to speak. A moment later she passed him a note.

It said, _I read the teacher's mind. She's going to really come down on us hard in the third semester and make life hell. She's PLANNING to with the other teachers! Can you believe it? I've got a counter plan, though I'll need some help. Are you in?_

He checked the box that said 'Yes' and quickly TK'd it back to her. The return note asked him to meet her after school in the alley. Without even considering how annoyed his parents would be if he were home late, he met her with Maloof on speed dial in case his boss's resources. The cold wind and the December snowfall didn't bother him in the least as they walked and talked, talked and walked. Lili's plan was bold. Very bold, in fact, and he had to desperately talk her down to something that wouldn't put her in jail for the rest of her life if caught. Well, admittedly, the current plan could still do that, but not to the same degree. Oddly enough, though, he didn't doubt she could pull most of it off without him. It was only Raz's being gone for the rest of the year with his family that had prompted her to ask for his help. Silently, he made a note to send Raz an expensive gift this Christmas. All he'd been thinking about lately was how nice it would be to hang out with Lili, and now this.

So wrapped up in his thoughts and her talking was he, that he totally lost both his sense of direction and time. Lili brought him into a small building, in the small shops part of town. A candy store. He blinked as she got two cups of hot cocoa, and a platter of chocolate coated potato chips to share between them. They sat down at one of three tables, the night growing dark early outside. He was late coming home, very late indeed. Yet he was rooted to the spot, unable to move. They spent about ten or so minutes in companionable silence, eating and sipping cocoa and watching the snow swirl about outside. Mikhail could not remember being so content in his life.

"This is nice," he told her. She smiled.

"Raz usually chatters up a storm and gets us kicked out," she confessed, and didn't seem at all offended when the Russian boy snorted into his cocoa. "I just figured that you'd have more self control."

He felt flattered even as he realized the comment was more a slam at Raz than anything else. His cheeks felt warm all of a sudden, but if Lili noticed, she didn't say anything, merely rising to pay the store clerk. He took the last chip, and with fond smiles, they parted ways. If it was cold, he didn't feel it. If it was hard finding his way home in the dark, he didn't notice. He barely registered anything on the way home other than that it was snowing. Lili looked lovely with snowflakes stuck to her long pigtails. She looked lovely insulting Razputin, too. No, more accurately, when she had told him he had control. Like he was a commander or a pro wrestler or something. He felt warm right up until he came home that night.

Was it bad that though the bulk of the plan was illegal, he didn't care? He didn't want to be just another immoral Russian, but Lili made the whole thing sound downright fun. She talked in terms of 'just imagine the looks on their faces' rather than 'we're getting to wreck stuff!'. Somehow, that was enough of a difference to him that he couldn't hate the idea. Lili Zanotto could spin this whole thing into a giant prank, which essentially it was, and make the word prank carry enough meaning to shut down the common sense part of his mind. That night, thinking back on how light hearted and content they could be together, he made a decision. No matter how crazy this idea seemed, he wasn't going to bail out of the plan. Lili's happiness was more important than whether or not something was legal.

That night, Mikhail's parents learned, was the start of a very guilty courtship on their son's part. He talked to Lili the next morning before school, he talked to her at lunch, he walked with her after school. He drew plans and made a list of steps. Revisions on both were the regular for a week before the plan was finalized, by which time it was Christmas break. While his little brothers demanded to know what was wrong with him, he shrugged. When his father laughed heartily and asked his mother, "Remember when we were like that, when we started dating?" Mikhail would hotly state that they weren't dating. They were friends, and Lili had a boyfriend. Oh, cringe, there came a guilt wave. Lili was spoken for. He couldn't let himself admit the talks sometimes turned casual and that she looped his arm through his every time they walked, or he would hate himself in the morning. If Raz were here, would the other boy approve? Mikhail thought not, and thus denied at the top of his voice that any courtship was going on.

Christmas break came, and with it, rehearsals for Lili's plan. For this to work, they both had to have clear ideas where they were going. And as much as Mikhail hated to admit it, she was stronger than him. She ran longer than him, she could remember directions better, and ultimately she ended up waiting for him at the end of most of the blocks. This whole godforsaken plan was beginning to look pointless to him. It kept him out of the house, though, and out of the path of his uncles, so he kept going. Those days, exhausted and tired, they dragged themselves to a grocery store after the end of their rehearsals to buy whatever looked warm and appetizing. One day, still hot from running around, they took off their coats and ate ice cream bars in the parking lot as passerby stared. Each day, their talks became more about them and less about the plan. At some point, he didn't know when, they'd gone from partners in crime to friends. Actually, by rehearsal time, they were best friends.

Christmas itself consisted of Mikhail pulling an all nighter to make Lili an overly intricate friendship bracelet. Nothing garish like the green-blue-orange one Raz had given her (given her back? He was never clear on that...). Just a silver and cream colored, checkered one. It wasn't the greatest thing he'd ever done, but it was handmade and it was easy to find a box for. While the rest of his family were still sleeping, he walked to her house in the silent, still wintertime streets to leave it on her doorstep. Somehow it didn't strike him as the least bit overly sentimental of a thing to do. Other people would've complained about the snow or the cold or at least the hour, but when he returned home, he found a box on his doorstep, too. He and Lili were not other people. They weren't _whiners_, he chuckled as he brought it in and placed it under the tree before heading to his room for a few hours of well earned sleep.

His brothers mocked him for having a girlfriend. His uncles hooted at the scarf she made him - "She'll make a great wife, Miki!" - and his parents couldn't stop grinning. Ignoring them, he put it on anyway. Denying Lili was his girlfriend tasted like a lie in his mouth. He couldn't say it anymore, even as he endured a day's worth of snickering from his family. He knew it wasn't tough or dignified, let alone manly, to just take this lying down. He just closed his eyes and hoped for February to come. The fourteenth, he told himself. It'd all be over then and things would be okay. The world would surely right itself once the plan was put in motion.

They ran their escape route for the first two weeks of January, until they knew it inside out. Then she began drilling him on back up plans. If this fails, do this, she'd say, pointing to the paper on their table in the candy shop. He'd nod, half seeing the directions and half seeing her wine red hair's shine. It was getting through to him, though. There was no way they could be caught. Lili wouldn't let it happen, to herself or to him. They were tough. This plan was hard, but not impossible. Together, they would kick butt, take names, and get away free of blame. She was confident through the running and the planning, so he became confident, too. He never doubted what they were doing. The teacher was cruel and snide one moment, loving and gentle to her favorite students the next. After Christmas break, she only got worse. It was not out of personal hatred that he was going to do this. Lili just decided she needed to be taken down a notch, along with a slew of other teachers. Mikhail had full faith that this plan was going to do exactly that as he practiced, for the umpteenth time, the escape route Lili had chosen.

When the faithful day came, the plan itself was flawless. The night was pristine and snowless, the timing was perfect, the location was just right, the moon was rising, and Lili was full of life as she led him by the hand into the school. It was time, finally time. Through an unlocked, neglected back door, they entered and, with ghostlike quiet, made their way through pitch black halls, one hand resting on the wall's smooth surface. Without making a sound, he pulled her to the side. The door opened without a creak, and Lili fumbled for a flashlight. The Home Economics room lay before them, empty and silent as a tomb. With her help, he quickly went to work. Scrambling some ingredients, switching flour for sugar, putting salt in the tea leaves, using TK to glue spices to the ceiling so they would rain down slowly but surely. They mixed some sugar with some water left in under three minutes.

The next targets, the math and remedial math rooms, required a bit more teamwork. Mikhail used his formidable telekinesis to open textbooks and leave them open while Lili put liberal amounts of sugar water in their centers and in between the covers and the pages. It wasn't precision work, but in the near total darkness, with only faint moonlight to guide her, it took a good ten minutes. The damage, though, was going to be lasting, he thought as he quietly shoved the books back into their places on the shelves. Leaving the freshman English room alone only because its condition was too bad to sink any further, they ascended the back stairs and, using the light leaking open from windows as their guide, promptly hit the art room. It was easy enough to throw paint everywhere, taking some for use on the other English rooms. With calculated vindictiveness, Lili painted the new white boards and the ancient chalk boards until they were rendered useless. Mikhail did the same in the other English classroom; they used the leftover blue paint to devastate the Science and Biology classroom, taking the dead animals for use on the History classrooms. Anyone who came in for first period History was going to get an eyeful (or perhaps a foot in) of dead rats, bats, and geese. The third floor was entirely honors classes, something Lili simply dealt with by using pyrokinesis to incinerate the textbooks, while Mikhail eased open a window to keep the smoke from hitting a detector in the hallway. That, unfortunately, took about an hour. But being pressed for time wouldn't stop the last stage of Lili's plan.

The French classroom. All Lili's rage at every teacher who had ever made life difficult for a student was coming out in full force. Mikhail quietly broke the desks in half while Lili kicked apart chairs, ripped off posters, and grabbed a can of spray paint to write a very ironic 'LIGHTEN UP, FRENCHIE!' across the wall. In every room they'd passed, they'd TK'd the desks to one side and the chairs to the other. A pain in the ass, but nothing horrific. Now, they couldn't stop. This teacher became a manifestion of every bad teacher and personal demon they had. Before Mikhail knew it, they'd broken into her desk, shredded the textbooks into confetti, and ripped off the side chalk board. It lay broken and splintered before either of them came to their senses. Every snide remark, glare, and humiliation they'd suffered since birth suddenly flashed through their minds. They kicked things, threw the remnants of desks to the ground, punched the walls with psychic fists. For a moment, Mikhail realized, they were both totally out of control. The rage that had coursed through them, bringing memories of being taunted and talked down to for years, left in mere seconds.

Mikhail came to, to find himself and Lili breathing hard. She stood, mere feet away, decked out in all black, shoulders heaving. Their eyes met, and as if by psychic connection, they both realized they hadn't been silent and muffled like they'd planned. For a tense moment, the two stood in the dark, neither able to find the will to move, before a police siren broke the silence. Startled, he grabbed her hand and they made a mad dash. The escape plan kicked in. Across the long hallway they flew, the trashed images of the rooms flashing by as they raced for the back stairs. They made it down, jumping down five steps at a time, hearts pounding in their ears as they ran for their lives. Three floors had never seemed so incredibly long of a distance before. The darkness could not hold them back as they burst out the doors, running down the familiar alley at breakneck speed. Icy air filled their lungs and the moonlight illuminated their path. They had to keep moving, Mikhail chidded himself as he fought down the urge to laugh. They weren't home free yet.

With a cry, Lili's foot caught on a patch of ice, and she went down hard. Mikhail skidded to a stop, mere feet away. There was a distant figure, shouting. A cop was catching up to them. If they didn't keep going, they'd be doomed. But oddly enough, he didn't give a damn if he was caught. The blood seeping out of Lili's knee onto the snow was what scared him the most. A big, strong, Russian wrestler was terrified of the sight of blood. He could have laughed, but instead he stood frozen, staring at her. He couldn't move even though part of him wanted to. It was only a few seconds. It felt like a lifetime as Lili looked into his eyes with something that was a cross between fear and determination.

"Mikhail, go." His jaw dropped as she struggled to stand. "I'll be fine. I planned for this."

"Lili... Lilianna... I can't just-"

"Don't be stupid," she spat at him, turning to glance behind her shoulder at the rapidly approaching officer. "I'll be fine. Meet me at the candy shop, okay? I'll be there."

Heart heavy, he turned and ran, but only until he rounded a corner. Going invisible, he immediately turned, walking silently in the night air, breathing into his coat to hide his breath. His footsteps were muffled and quiet even as the officer's steps grew louder. Lili had done the same thing, and the officer glanced around nervously, seeking what could not be found. His footsteps crunched so loudly he didn't see the soft imprints in the snow or hear the small crinkles that indicated Lili was moving away from him. He reached in to call for backup, frustrated. In that moment, dual Psi Blasts struck him in the head, and he fell to the ground, unconscious. Lili didn't seem remotely surprised that Mikhail was still there, and merely leaned on him with silent gratitude. They didn't look behind them at the body, because that hadn't been in the plan and both of them would've started to feel terrible. Property damage was one thing, but people... that was different. They heaved dual sighs. The rest of the walk to the candy shop was silent. It was just opening when he got there and ordered two extra caffeinated cocoas to go. Lili had decided it was best if they both go to school even after what had happened. Like other kids, they'd get there, be turned away, and go home. Maybe by then, Mikhail's heart would stop beating.

He took Lili to his house, because it was closer, and wrapped her knee up. She undid her hair, brushing it as Mikhail quickly changed out of his muddy, snow stained clothes. Lili shamelessly took off her thick black sweater, leaving only a black tank top beneath, and he was amazed at how non-skinny her arms were now. Things certainly had changed since they were kids, he thought as he watched her stretch out on his bed. For a moment he drank in the sight of her, long wine red hair fanning out behind her, shining softly, pale skin flushed at the cheeks from the panic now fading. Her legs were long, he realized for the first time. Beneath the baggy fabric of his oversized pants on her small frame, he could see the bulge of the bandage, and he reached out to touch her knee, gently.

Her golden eyes fluttered, then met his. She was okay. She would be fine. Lili didn't regret tonight, and as a ghoulish smile broke onto her face, he knew she could hardly wait to spend the day talking it over with him, watching news reports and laughing a delightfully wicked laugh. Lili sat up, and placed her hand over his.

"You know," she said hesitantly, after a moment, "Raz is going to be gone until next Christmas. I'm gonna need a partner if I want to keep teaching whiners lessons." Her smile grew faintly, at the edges. "Would you ever consider being my partner in crime for a bit longer?"

"Of course," he said, without hesitation. "You will always have Mikhail!"

On some level he knew it was impractical. Some day they'd be caught, something would go wrong and Lili would really be hurt, or worse yet, they'd be seperated. That logical, sane part of his brain begged him to take it back. If they kept up this kind of insanity, what was left of his ability to do something without being a follower would be gone. But all he wanted was to live those moments of carefree, childish destruction and joyous pranks until time ended. In all his life, even wrestling bears hadn't generated this kind of utter happiness. Logic could go take a hike as far as the consequences of this madness was concerned. The only thing that concerned him was that, as he snuck down to the kitchen to make them breakfast, he could no longer deny he was in love with her. When she had looked at him and decided she would take on a cop if it meant he could get away, he knew it. He knew like the sun rising and the snow falling that they were in love. It couldn't be stopped now.

And that Raz would be gone for another year was nothing short of a joy to him.

By the end of this year, he'd have won her heart, Mikhail was sure.

For now, he merely handed her an omelette and some toast, pausing only to laugh as she looked him in the eye and said, "Happy Valentine's Day, Mikhail."

"You planned it for V day?" he asked incredulously, eyes twinkling with mirth. "You're-"

"Nothing short of awesome, I know. Pass the butter?"

And that he did, chuckling all the while.


	76. CrispinGloria

They called it a grey depression, back then.

Of course, nowadays fancy psychiatrists with a need to over complicate things would call it Depression with Diassociative tendencies, or Diassociative Disorder with Depression, or any other needlessly capitalized series of words. They'd give him a list of symptoms and whichever he fit most, he'd be labelled with that. Modern psychology had no place in it for individuals. There was no way a person could merely be insane. They had to have this, this and that with hints of that. Otherwise the diagnosis would a person was suffering from insanity, not 'the patient has A, B and partial C'. If Crispin had been a modern patient, he'd have been treated like an object. But he was not a modern one, and Dr. Laboto knew damn well what Crispin had.

It was a typical grey depression. It was everything everyone said it was. It was a simple, total lack of feeling. There was no need for scientific sounding diagnosis. He was the epitomy of numbness and everyone knew it. How else would he make such a good Head Orderly? That was Fred's problem - too many emotions. The poor man wasn't cut out for this. Crispin, on the other hand, was totally, utterly cut out for this.

A long time ago, there had been a time where he cared. He was an utterly average child. Then there had been... something. He had blocked it out long ago, a nightmarish stretch of time between his nineth birthday and his twelfth wherein it had all gone wrong. And he came out of it not caring about anything. The friends he'd valued had left him. His parents were uncaring and callous. It was easiest not to feel a thing. Like a robot, he flawlessly transitioned into becoming a productive, silent member of society. Of course, he knew something had gone wrong. He knew there were memories he needed to retrieve. But it was easier to ignore it, and unlike most mental patients, he did all he could to go against remembering anything.

Now the world was a dull blur of greys. There was no color. There were no stand out faces. There was no moment that made him really take interest in life. Life was passing, flowing all around him, and he barely registered it was happening. He hardly ever thought about the future or the past or anything else. It was a constant state of being in the present and the present dragging on and on. Not that it mattered. Nothing mattered. Life didn't matter. Dr. Laboto didn't matter. Let the world blow itself up, he didn't think much of it.

The only thing he cared for, the only thing he thought a lot about, was the girl. He could easily have called her a woman, but being her senior by a good ten years, it hardly mattered. To him, she was the girl. She was tall and had the most distinctive silohuette in the asylum. The girl was the only one who was not the same from day to day. She could be calm, loving, and accepting one moment, then viciously cold hearted the next. One moment she was giggling, the next she was crying. One day she knew him, the next he was a stranger to her. She was the white-red blur in a sea of unimportant greys.

Little by little, the other inmates became greys to him. Their personalities were not unique enough and varied enough to break through this depression. No one was, except her. Except for her, the world might have become too unimportant and dull to bear. Without her, he might have decided he'd had enough of this bloody numb existance. Without her, he might even have given up on his little comments, his last defense against the total sameness of it all.

But she was here, and she could make him feel again. She startled him. She frightened him. She enchanted him. She loved him. Though he never would say it to anyone, he wanted to kill Razputin for curing her.

The day he had, the world had become totally grey again.

Damn Psychonauts.


	77. CrispinSheegor

Author's Note: Since apparently all the other long breaks I've taken on this fic mean nothing, here's an update. Note how it says in progress on this fic? Yeah, it's still going. College is a bitch, but the fic lives on.

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Crispin is always there for her.

That's good, since she doesn't have anyone else. No family, since they were forced to move away. She doesn't blame them for leaving. They didn't have any choice. She missed them, and she wished they were here, but she wasn't mad. She will never ever be! She's not insane, as she tells Crispin daily. She is not not NOT insane. She's just a little bit lonely. It'll be okay, since Crispin's here, but she has to keep herself happy. Otherwise she'll dissolve into madness like all the other patients. Only Crispin gets it. He used to be insane.

He wasn't too bad, just very sad. He was never really mean like Laboto. She doesn't think he has it in him. Mean comments are as far as he can get. Occasionally he'll roll his eyes, too. His eyes have gotten worse, though, so nowadays he settles for snorting. It's all rather familiar by now. The motions make her feel at ease, as if somehow having someone who's constant makes everything better. Edgar bounces from enraged to calm. Gloria is mean and accusing then nice and loving. Fred is French and American and two people at once. Even Laboto can't seem to decide whether he'll be rude, evil, happy, childish, or quietly cackling anymore. The only person who acts the same from day to day is Crispin.

Back in the day, he was like that, too. The sole steady person in a sea of loons. She had been so quiet, so withdrawn and afraid. Yet she never had to be with him. He was content to sit beside her and watch the sun rise. No words needed to be exchanged. No small talk was needed. Even now that he was better, he still didn't want to chat all die. He's Crispin, after all. He is, was, and always will be quiet, controlled and sane. Even though no one else here is.

So she brings him things. Cake works best, since he's always had a sweet tooth. Pie's good, too. Ice cream is what he really wants, though. She wishes she could get it for him. Not that she'd even know what flavor to get. She's not very good at guessing that kind of thing. If he minds her occasionally revolting flavor choices, he doesn't tell her. He's too nice to do that to the last sane woman in this asylum. The most he'll do is lie that he's not hungry. It's so easy to see through him, but she doesn't do anything but nod and chirp, in her squeaky voice, "Okay!" and run off.

One day they'll get out of here. She's not sure when it will happen, just that it will. Her precognition tells her so. She's sure they'll stay together, though. He won't leave her. He's dedicated. It's why she loves him. Day in and day out, he does his job, guarding the entrance to the dangerous upper floors. That way she can be alone, in the tangled mess of a building she calls home. That way she can have a break from Laboto's taunting and screaming. Her peace and quiet is only existing because Crispin wills it to. When they get out of here, she knows she'll have to do something special to thank him. Something that will remind him how much he means to her.

For now, there's cake.


	78. ChloeRaz Part One of Two

Author's Note: And onward we go, updating merrily, many fics at once! W00tness, and all that. ALSO, I am thrilled to announce that contrary to my prior statements, I will be doing sequels to drabbles contained within and some two parters. This, for instance, is part one of ChloeRaz. You'll get the next part at a later date. :D

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"Rottaniaz?" Chloe asked him, once, and he had frozen where he stood.

That was so familiar. Where had he heard it? There was some kind of response to it, something ingrained deep within his mind. What was it? It was so familiar? The words failed to appear for him, but his expression spoke volumes. Chloe stared at him, watching his face contort in confusion and recognition. Only she wasn't Chloe. It was Kitonara-loe, wasn't it? He cringed, rubbing his head. The image of a charred skeleton in a fetal position flashed before his eyes. No, NO! He was Raz, she was Chloe, this was insane. He had to go, he told her, and he ran off as fast as he could.

Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid. It was such a dumb name, whatever the hell she had said. It sounded constructed and made up on the spot, just like whatever the hell his idea for her was. He was being a moron. Hadn't he grown out of this? He was over the whole nightmares and foreign languages thing. It was over. It was all over.

He woke up screaming.

The nightmares had come back. The way he burned the person who dared attack the humans helping him. He incinerated them, fire searing them black in seconds as they crumpled to the ground. The charred skeleton had been hastily wrapped in a bag by the humans, as they half heartedly congratulated him for saving them. He wasn't supposed to. He wasn't supposed to have these powers. Humans didn't. And now the skeleton was crunching in the trash as they fought down the urge to vomit. Their accusing eyes asked him a question he couldn't answer: Raz, why did you do it?

He hadn't done anything! He told himself, shaking slightly. He hadn't ever hurt anyone like that. He'd asked his father and he'd been told it was just a horrible nightmare. When his dad found him as a baby, there had been a skeleton in the grass nearby. That was why Razputin Aquato had nightmares about skeletons. The fire thing was just because he hadn't been good at controlling his powers before Whispering Rock. He was just terrified of hurting someone. Yeah, that was it. He was a hero, a Psychonaut, and he didn't want anyone getting hurt. He wanted everyone to be okay. That was why the skeleton had scared him. As a little kid, he hadn't known any better. He could burn things and it was burned so he'd thought he was a murderer. But that was dumb. He couldn't possibly have done anything like that, and his father would have told him if he did.

"Rottaniaz: an Annanai boy's name, derived from Rotta, psychic, and Niaz, armored. Commonly abbreviated as Ran, Tiaz, Tani, or **Raz**…"

"SHUT UP CHLOE!" he roared, and the intensity stunned even him. "I don't want to hear any more dumb alien shit!"

He didn't have to. The images swirled before his eyes as he backed up, clutching his head. No, no, he didn't know what Chloe was talking about. He couldn't. He wouldn't. He was just an average psychic kid. He wasn't anything else. He was the adopted, loving son of two wonderful circus freaks who were psychic too. So they knew he had just been abandoned because he was psychic and his parents had some kind of stigma against it. It was okay. He had them. He was doing okay. He was normal enough, wasn't he?

"The Annanai were a race of highly capable mental blockers and telepathic receivers, who perished in the Galactic War roughly about ten years ago. Knowing they were doomed, they sent out their children-"

That was enough. His Psi-Beam hit her square in the chest, knocking her backwards. Going invisible, he ran to the one person he knew could stop the ringing in his head. Sasha. Sasha would analyze him and tell him he was human. He had human DNA. The thirteen year old boy didn't even knock before diving into the GPC to escape his fellow Junior Instructor. Sasha was there, looking sane, rational and utterly Sasha-like. Raz felt relief sweep through him. Surely his idol would reassure him that everything was as it should be. Sasha did not believe in gods, aliens, monsters or demons. He was purely scientific. He wouldn't back Chloe up.

Except that when Raz asked him if he was human, Sasha froze, then became very busy with paperwork. Raz asked again, quieter, "Am I human?" to no response. He felt panic rise in him, although it may have been bile left over from the black skeleton dream. Feeling uneasy, he watched his instructor with wide green eyes. "Is Chloe human?" When the older Psychonaut inhaled deeply, not meeting his eyes, Raz truly dissolved into panic. "Answer me, Sasha! Is Chloe human? Is she whatever the hell she thinks she is? Am I? Are we some kind of new breed of psychic? Is that it? Is that why she's convinced we're…"

He trailed off mid-sentence. Sasha was looking at him apologetically, and the German man placed two heavy hands on the teenager's shoulders. "I'm sorry, Razputin. Milla and I were going to tell you when you were older…"

Raz backed away, shaking his head slowly. No. No. He felt his legs shake slightly. "This is insane. You're insane. I'm not… I'm…" His eyes were wide, and Sasha just stood there, watching him with pity in his eyes. The world's youngest Psychonaut began to shake all over. _No_.

Abruptly, he vanished, resolve hardened. Teleportation was an emergency only power, but screw it. He had to find Milla. Milla would give it to him straight. Why he thought Sasha wouldn't, he wasn't sure. He only knew this couldn't he right. He couldn't possibly be some kind of alien. This was all a joke, right? Everyone was going to pop out and laugh at him any second now. Someone would yell 'Gotcha!' any moment now. Everyone would have a good laugh at how silly he was being, and then everything would be okay. Everything would be okay. Everything would be…

He collapsed, broken, on the shores of the lake, sobbing.

Even Raz couldn't deny what was going on. He was armored like a tank. Chloe was the only one who had blocks anything like that. They could hear thoughts. They could decode the Coach's plan. They both seemed to eat so little, they were up at all hours, they were green eyed and tan skinned. He didn't want to think it. He didn't even want to imagine it. But it was true, wasn't it? They weren't human. They weren't mutated psychics. They were too similar to be anything but either secretly related, or the same species. He wanted desperately to believe the related option. He couldn't. He could sense her presence clearly, with focus he could feel every footstep she took towards him, hear her every thought and concern for him clearly. Chloe. So familiar.

"Kitonara-loe?" he breathed, and his eyes met hers. His were weary and full of confusion. Hers were peaceful and accepting. "I used to know you, back then, didn't I?"

She nodded, her helmet gone for once, pulling him to his feet. "I fear we have much to discuss, Raz."

"Just tell me whatever it is that's made you all obsessed and fawning over me," he responded dully. "I don't want any more bullshit. Don't beat around the bush anymore, Chloe. Just tell me: what the hell am I and why did we know each other? Why can I hear your thoughts when no one else can? And why…" he paused, inhaling deeply. "Why didn't anyone tell me?"

"We tried, Raz. I did, and our people did. But you blocked everyone and everything out for a long time. We couldn't reach you. So I tried my best to be your friend. I wanted to tell you before Sasha or Milla did. I wanted to make your memories come back so everything wouldn't slam into you like this. I'm so sorry, Rottaniaz. I'm so, so sorry." Her arms wrapped around him. He was unresponsive. Into his shirt, she continued softly, "You can hear my thoughts, and I care for you, because we were to be the start of a project, when it was thought the Annanai were going extinct. They're not – _we're_ not – so now the project isn't needed, but it can't be undone."

Raz stared down at her, feeling strangely, illogically calmed by her presence. "Project?"

She looked up at him, soft tresses of identical wine red framing her face as she drew closer. "The literal translation of the title into English would be 'Project Adam and Eve'."

And then she kissed him.


	79. RazLaboto

Um, okay, so? Laboto?

_Completely_ fucking insane.

The whole stealing brains thing isn't what made me aware of this. The pepper shaker thing didn't clue me in. The mad dentist shtick wasn't even what made me realize how off kilter this guy was. No, it was about the time that he began arranging fruit on me as I hung upside down from the ceiling that it dawned on me: this guy was a lunatic. He was slicing oranges and apples to stick all over me with tape. Why? I have no idea. HE has no idea. I asked and got that as a response.

I would point out to him that you're supposed to do villainous stuff when you catch your enemy. Would. But I don't think he'd listen. Even if he did, I don't think he'd care. This is the guy with a floral shower cap on his head we're talking about. Logic is about as far removed from him as neon pink is from Sasha. Still, I have to say something to him. This is getting really bizarre. Not threatening bizarre, just 'break-from-reality' bizarre. I'm not scared right now, even though there's ten grapes held together with jam stuck in my mouth. I'm not even angry, really. I'd just like to ask my captor what the hell he's doing.

So, having eaten my gag (I'd point it fruit makes a bad gag, but again, he's HIM) I pose the question, "How exactly is this going to remove my brain?"

Laboto cackles. "Oh, you poor, simple child. Fruit doesn't remove your brain, it alters the chemistry of it!"

The look I give him as I dangle from the ceiling screams 'what' so much that even being upside down doesn't make it less effective. We're on eye level, and I've got to say, he's pretty much the only person I know who makes more sense upside down than upright. Ignoring my expression, he continues dicing and chopping fruit. He thinks his one liner explained everything. This is the point where I'm supposed to nod understandingly or something. I'm still lost, though. Somehow I think I liked it better when I was just guessing as to what his logic was.

Fruit alters brain chemisty. Huh, okay, I'll buy that. It's food, and food effects what you eat. Someone forgot to tell Laboto to, you know, actually make me EAT the stuff, but okay. He's kind of on the right track. And kind of vaguely on track is, for this guy, a giant leap forward. I still don't get why I'm upside down. That just confuses me. Then again, someone who sings to a captured turtle probably shouldn't be relied on for logic. He's clearly a bit off.

Man, this sucks! Here I was, going to fight evil, and I get stuck with this guy! I was all hyped up to save the world from a madman. I was going to kick ass and become a Psychonaut. Instead I get some lunatic with mismatched eyes. He's not intimidating. Defeating him won't make me a Psychonaut. If I kick the Coach's ass, maybe, but not this guy's. He's harmless and charmless, like a B-grade super hero movie villain. No one's going to be impressed that I beat up a guy with a pepper shaker for a hand. That's not a victory. That's just stupid. Bobby was right, this whole thing is stupid. This camp is stupid, I'm stupid, and Laboto is... well, no, not stupid. Just insane.

"Are the grapes working?" he squeals, jumping up and down. "I think they are!"

Very, very insane.

"Um, look," I say hesitantly, "I don't think the grapes are doing anything."

He looked crestfallen. "At all? But the science seemed so sound!"

_What science?!_ I want to scream. Instead I shrug as best as I can. "Sorry."

And then he begins to cry. I'll reiterate this because it's so stupid. A villain, who captured the hero, is now crying because he fed the hero grapes and that didn't do anything. Good God, this is the single most nonsensical moment of my life, and I live in the circus. Closing my eyes, I try to block this moment out. This isn't happening, this isn't happening. It doesn't enough sense to be happening. I must be dreaming. I'll wake up in a few minutes, and have an arch foe who isn't sobbing into his claws for no reason at all.

Is it weird that I feel guilty the grapes didn't work?

He's not right in the head. I should've told him they were working. I should've been all goofy or something to make it look like it was doing something. He's kind of pitiful, really. Not evil, not diabolical. He's pitiful. In his deluded mind, that whole grape bit made total sense. If I could only get out of here and into his mind, I could help him. I don't think I could make him sane completely, but I could try. I could make him less over the top, maybe. At the very least I could take the edge off of his severe mood swings. I haven't seen anyone so depressed since... ever, actually. I feel guilty watching him freak out. He's not okay, and I should've known better. Poor, insane little homicidal dentist.

"Um, wait, they're working!" I say, blinking as if dazed. "Whoo, those grapes are hardcore stuff!"

His face lights up. Hugging me (which is bizarre upside down), he squeals so loud my ears ring before kissing me, hard. Then he runs off, grabs a basket of grapes and begins running down the stairs of the asylum. While _skipping_. And throwing grapes around. And singing We're Off to See the Wizard. All of which makes way more sense than how red my face is and how giddy I feel because I just kissed a guy.

Which is _completely_ the grapes fault.

The science is sound.


	80. KittyMilka

There were times when Kitty really hated this.

This whole life wasn't what she wanted. She'd wanted to be the pretty, popular kid. She'd wanted to be loved by all and friend to all. She'd wanted to be something special. Right now, however, she didn't feel special. She didn't feel pretty. She didn't feel at all like she was loved. In this moment, all she was was a common shallow high school moron. Some average high school prima doma crying about some dumb break up. Nothing special. Nothing noteworthy. Just the opposite of everything she'd ever envisioned for herself.

No one was coming to check on her. No one cared if she cried her heart out in the bathroom. All shallow cheerleaders cried. Duplicated and replacable, she thought angrily, that's all she was. She was a clone that could be replaced by anyone and no one would care. A dime a dozen. A cheerleader with a rich daddy. Who cared if that kind of girl cried? She was popular, and to unpopular people that meant she was someone to mock and roll your eyes at, not help. They would not come for her like they would a total stranger. Her friends were even worse in the sympathy department, being more people she hung out with out of habit rather than actual friends. They wouldn't know she was here. They didn't even notice her leaving.

Did anyone care? She wished they did. She wished that someone would come in here and shake her out of this. Kitty wanted desperately to be one of those outcast girls with lots of mascara who would have a circle of similarly depressed friends begging her to cheer up. She wished she was one of those geeky, quiet girls who the science teacher would comfort through the bathroom door. She wished she wasn't her, and with that thought Kitty Bubai began to sob whole heartedly into her knees, wrapping her arms around them as she sat, lonely and forgotten, on top of a toilet. If she wasn't her, if she was just someone better, someone _real_, someone would care. Someone would be in here telling her she'd missed lunch and math and asking what was wrong.

What happened to the days when she was happy? What happened to the days where everything seemed so worth it? There was a time when everything had been so clear. This life had been so great. Then Franke died. It all fell apart so fast, so hard. They had promised each other they'd join all these clubs and cheerleading and other things together. They'd take the same classes together. They'd talk about boys together. They'd be best friends until they died, no matter what anyone said. Franke had made everything so fun. It wasn't the same cheering without her alongside Kitty. It wasn't the same to hang out with the other cheerleaders without her own personal cheerleader to back her up. The days of sunshine, friendship bracelets and laughter seemed to be dead now.

She didn't want them to be. She wanted to keep living. She wanted to be the pretty cheerleader who was always happy. It just seemed to worthless now. What was the point of being like that when no one else really cared? What was the point of being snarky and snide without someone to giggle with? Everything was off now. Kitty felt lost, an insecure island drowning in a sea of people who were perfectly confident. They were all hollow walking stereotypes, living out their roles in peace. If Franke had been there, she would be just the same, living an ordinary life with zeal and joy. The difference was that with Franke there the joy wouldn't have been an act. With her best friend, everything had been genuine. Franke had known all her secrets, and kept them till her death. There was no replacing that kind of friendship.

Only Franke had known that deep down, Kitty wasn't an ordinary cheerleader. No one else knew that there was something very different about her, deep down. They had all grown to gradually accept the psychic thing, but some secrets weren't meant to be shared. It had taken Kitty years to tell her best friend that she liked girls. It took all her bravery to whisper it, and she had been ready to cry, ready for rejection. Franke hadn't thrown her away. Franke was there for her, with advice and gossip and wardrobe advice. She was Kitty's guiding force, the reason that Kitty felt secure. Sure other people would be judgemental, but her best friend, her sister mentally, had always been okay with her. She had been okay with it. She'd killed off Kitty's biggest fear and insecurity.

And now Kitty was all alone.

She stopped crying, eventually. Still she didn't move. She didn't want to. The thought of facing all of those people who didn't even care wasn't appealing. She just wanted to be someone else. She didn't want to be Kitty Bubai anymore. If only people got to pick their orientation, she could go back in time and be boy crazy like a normal girl. Then she could have normal crushes and normal friends and be the perfect little Barbie doll for everyone. Unfortunately, no one got to pick and choose themselves ahead of time. That left the question of what to do now. Her parents would be mad at her for skipping, yeah, but what then? She didn't want to keep this up anymore. At one time, Kitty was really and truly happy being a cheerleader and star member of the fashion club. She'd loved it. Now she was a different person. Now, that was a million years away from who she was. She couldn't keep going on this dumbass, generic, meaningless path. She had to do something. If she didn't get out while she could, she'd spend her whole life like this, crying and alone. Kitty fingered the friendship bracelet on her arm. Franke wouldn't have wanted this for her.

It wasn't hard to quit the fashion club and cheerleading. It meant nothing to her to resign from the school decorating committee. The hard thing was choosing clubs to be in instead. Chorus and theater sounded good. Those didn't remind her of Franke at all. Those didn't fit in with the shallow cheerleader thing at all. It might be harder to get scholarships to a normal college now. The Psychonauts wouldn't care if she passed everything. They'd take her anyway. And she was going to be one, now. She couldn't go back to the stupid fashion college idea anymore. That would just envelope her in misery over Franke not being there. She had to break free of that. Classes now changed, Franke went home to throw out her old clothes. They reminded her too much of shopping with Franke, and she had to move on. She wouldn't bring her friend back by wishing she could and thinking about her all the time. And _that_ was hard to accept.

She showed up to school on Monday, magenta hair streaked with blue, wearing unfashionable clothes in mismatched colors. She took notes, she ignored the glares of other cheerleaders, and then she began to do something she'd never done before. If Kitty - no, Katherine, and honestly Kitty was a dumb nickname - was ever going to move on, she'd have to make peace with herself. To do that, she'd have to stop hating herself for all the shallow things she'd done. It would take a lot of apologizing to undo all the mean remarks she'd made to make herself feel better about Franke's death. That was all it was. It wasn't malice. She wasn't mean. She liked arguing, but she wasn't the evil cheerleader she'd painted herself to be. So now she'd have to make everyone see she was sorry for how stupid and generic she had become. She didn't mean any of those things she'd said. She hadn't made a single genuinely funny comment since Franke died. Now she'd make that change.

Making amends took about three weeks. Most of the people she'd apologized to just looked confused. They weren't sure if she really meant it, or if she was lying. No one really knew what she was doing. Quite frankly she wasn't sure about that herself. It felt good, though, to see the way people reacted. They were relieved, happy, uplifted. The public opinion on her was shifting as she shunned the cruel, sneering girls she'd been friends with. The harder she worked at making sure people didn't hate her, the more people seemed to like her. Not love, but like was a major step up. No one envied her position socially. People liked her because she was just her, a real person. The feeling of being generic and shallow faded into a pitiful memory. She wasn't worthless, she wasn't some random kid. She was Kathy, and as unrecognizable as Kathy was to the kids around her, to those who'd gone to Whispering Rock with her, she was back to normal. Snarky, eye rolling, argumentive, upbeat. She was back to herself. Once she finished apologizing, she promised herself she'd start going to psychic summer camps again.

Now, if only she could find Milka. The shy girl was the only person she had to apologize to now, on the entire list. Oh, yes, there was a list. It was on paper, it was long, and it was a pain in the ass to work through. It occupied five notebooks and two memo pads in her locker. She didn't bother hiding them. Anyone breaking into her locker would only find genuine apologies and regret. No one, she found, could blackmail an honest person. On the long list of people, everyone had been apologized to, made amends with or, in some cases, made friends with. The only person left was Milka Phage, who had grown from a shy, kind hearted girl into a shy, kind hearted teenager. She'd grown out of turning invisible whenever someone approached her, though. That made tracking her down much easier. The problem was that Milka was currently attending an entirely different school.

Thankfully, it was a Catholic school. If anyone understood the whole apologizing and seeking forgiveness thing, it was a religious institution. The school's headmistress not only let her in, she gladly showed Kathy where Milka was. Milka had grown a little in the few years since she'd switched schools. Her hair was long now, resembling a mid back version of Milla Vodello's. It looked nice on her, even though her expression was still as dreamy as before. Her honey colored eyes widened when she caught sight of the new and improved Kitty. Kitty. In clothes that even Milka knew were not in style. Without any accessories on at all but friendship bracelets. If she didn't know better, she'd swear she was dreaming as Kitty, snide, cruel, vicious Kitty, made a long winded heart felt and tearful apology. To Milka. In front of everyone.

When Milka could find her voice again, she managed to gasp out, "Are you serious?" which earned her dual glares from the headmistress and teacher. "I mean, uh, thanks. Wow, I didn't see that coming."

"So you forgive me?" Kitty - er, no, Kathy (tha'd take some getting used to), asked softly. "I - I was hoping we could be friends now..."

"Yeah." Their eyes locked. "You are. And we can be."

And then reality broke, because they were hugging. Milka's brain struggled to process that thought. Her hated enemy was hugging her. Pulling away. Smiling. This had to be some kind of bizarre dream, because there was no way that this girl was the same bitch she'd gone to highschool with. This was how she used to be, all happy and giddy, but that was before Franke died. It had been forever since Milka had seen her hated enemy happy like this. She felt dumbfounded. Time seemed to freeze, and before it resumed its normal speed, she wanted to say something. She wanted to say how beautiful Kitty looked when she was herself. She wanted to explain how light, love and joy made her absolutely glow in an almost inhuman way. She wanted to tell her former foe how she lit up the room just by existing. Because good God, Kitty did, she really did. Her whole demeanor had done a one eighty. She'd become someone new and unrecognizable, someone bizarrely serene and at peace with herself. Milka could've kissed her.

Time resumed its normal speed, however, and they parted ways. Milka was left to sit, stunned, wondering why on Earth Katherine Bubai, one of the prettiest girls ever, would single her out like this. She could've just called or caught up with her later or sent a letter or something. Dazed, she realized that Kitty had slipped on of her bracelets onto Milka's own arm without her noticing. It was a friendship bracelet, freshly woven, with the same colors in it that Kitty and Franke had used as ten year old girls. In that moment, as Milka's hand closed around the slender bracelet, she realized what Kitty had meant earlier. She hadn't been asking if she was forgiven. She was asking if she was _loved_.

And Milka meant it when she said yes.


	81. BoydChloe

He'll help her find her home planet some day.

No one else will. No one is stepping up to help her. It's so sad, he thinks some nights as he works security at the satelite store. It's just so tragic, really. All she wants is to find her family. All she wants is to go home. No one understands what she's going through right now. If they would think about it, they'd be horrified. A child, lost and alone, without her real parents or her real home. Without anyone at all, she's just a lonely girl labelled as a nutcase by everyone around her. They have no idea what it's like to be Chloe. They don't want to know, so they label her insane and ignore her plight. It's easier that way, to throw her away like so much trash. But he knows she's right.

First of all, her telepathic abilities are so far reaching that there's no way she's human. Prodigy only goes so far. Her range is sixteen times that of the Psychonauts best telepathist. She has simply got to be non-human for that to be possible. No human child could ever reach that far mentally. She's just too young for that theory to work. Besides, her Earth parents have no psychic ability whatsoever. There's no way someone with as much talent as she has just pops into existance out of nowhere. She's too good, too talented, too capable. Maybe her species has a common ancestor with Earthlings. That would explain her human appearance and her abilities.

Secondly, he will proclaim to anyone who will listen, she's rather weird for a human. She's short, with eyes bigger than a human's, and her body does not react well to human food. More than anything else, she prefers foods high in sodium. Sodium rich foods cause humans to retain water weight. Chloe is skinny. Therefore she just can't be human. That's not possible. No, actually, it's not. He has science to prove someone who eats like she does should either die or gain weight rapidly. No one can explain how she defies human physiology on this one. It's because they _can't_. It's easier to pretend they don't know what he's talking about, so they can keep mocking her.

Third and most important is her ability to understand things humans cannot. She understands his theories and ramblings without ever looking into his mind. She makes the connections. Chloe is capable of believing the things other people won't believe. There is nothing so far fetched she won't at least try to understand. She is the stranded, forgotten child of an alien species more advanced on average than trained Psychonauts. She knows from life itself how that impossible things tend to be possible and real most of the time. So even though people mock him, when she's done trying to contact her people, she stops by the security room. There they'll share coffee and theories while the nighttime whittles away.

He should throw her out. He shouldn't let her mess with the dishes. She shouldn't be here. She shouldn't trust adults on such a perverse planet. They both stay right where they are, unwilling to leave the only person on Earth who cares for them. He's not sure how he plans to help her get to her home, or what he'll do afterward, only that he'll help her no matter what it takes. She's touched by the Earthling's affection for her. Secretly, she vows to give him intergalactic level medical help once she can. The Psychonauts feel he is incurable. She knows it's just a matter of finding the right technology. In the meantime, being together seems to have improved his general anxiety issues, much as his presence has quelled her own loneliness. It's not surprising. After all, they're both 'nutcases'. They're both 'insane' and 'irrational'. They both have been told the world's better off without them.

And when they both vanish one day, leaving a crop circle in their wake, they don't bother yelling 'I told you so' at the world while they can.

They're a bit more preoccupied kissing, because both of them have no grasp of the word 'subtlety'.


	82. NapoleonPhantom

Napoleon Bonaparte was beginning to worry for his sanity. He was, after all, seeing ghosts.

Well, _non_, that wasn't entirely true. So far it was just the one, thankfully. A bunch of them would put him on equal grounds with his descendant's friend Gloria. He wasn't down there onto the level of thinking there were bundles of imaginary people all around him. He was also far more secure in himself than Fred was, so it was not a delusion of insecurity. Still, he was seeing a ghost haunt the mansion he shared with Fred, and that was a bit worrying.

He was a bizarre ghost, scuttling around the shadows and hissing about being THE PHANTOM. Not very subtle. Then again, what could be expected from some American ghost with an oddly shaped body? He was obviously new to the whole concept of haunting. Well, perhaps he would improve with time. Surely he couldn't be this bad for much longer. And, no matter what Fred said, really, Napoleon was not intimidated by the overly dramatic fool. Just because some fool in black could appear and disappear at will didn't make him a threat. The very thought was laughable, or rather, it would be if it wasn't so sad. Yeah, that was it. Napoleon told everyone he knew that he was going to beat the ghost up and make it leave, because that's how pathetic it was.

His men believed him, since they didn't know the whole story. They had no idea what the Phantom's silky voice did to him, the way the sound made his breath catch. They weren't there to see it when the black clad figure smirked at the French commander, causing the shorter man to feel weak kneed. If they had seen these signs of fear, the proud general would have resigned in indignation. Truly, hard as he might try he couldn't hide it. It was awfully shameful to be so scared of something as simple as a haunting. He was eternally grateful Fred's head was big and empty, and he could keep his descendant in a single room. He could hide, far away from the voice that made him shiver, and when his eyes closed he could pretend it was all alright.

There were times that were truly frightening, though, not because ghosts were involved. It was scary because a _male_ ghost involved. At night, more than once he had woke up, hot and bothered, to an empty room. A flicker of a shadow would be all he got, leaving him alone with his thoughts. And oh, a man from Napoleon's time and age had much to think about when it concerned this sort of thing. He had never been one to be taken with men. Never. He had been married. This wasn't even possible, he told himself. It wasn't even possible for someone like him to feel this kind of thing. His body refused to listen. The nights where he woke up with the phantom sensation of being kissed, his bedspread crinkled in ways that made no sense, were increasing steadily. The thing that scared him most wasn't just that he enjoyed it. More than anything, it was that he began to long for it.

It was terrifying to know he'd been undone like this. What would his men think? What would France think? He tried to make himself remember the women he'd loved, only to draw a blank. His dreams were filled with long, icy hands and feather light touchs. The very idea made him blush. And it burned, it truly did, to be blushing. He hated romance. He had sworn off of it long ago. Napoleon Bonaparte always kept his promises, especially to him. So why, then, his conscious nagged him, did he leave the door unlocked every night? His mind laughed at him, but he couldn't help it. He'd been alone for so long now, it fely like a million years ago the last time he'd held someone in his arms. A glance of the Phantom in the hall was enough to take him back to happier times, the contentment reminescent of his days married. Sometimes he could close his eyes, imagine those stolen kisses and pretend he was back in time when everything was great. It was in these moments that he realized something.

Even seeing a ghost was better than not seeing anyone at all.


	83. EdgarMilla

She was a beautiful senorita, this Agent Vodello.

He called her Senorita Vodello. Her partner respectfully referred to her as Agent Vodello or Milla Vodello. Everyone else referred to her as Milla, or the Mental Minx. In Edgar's opinion, you should not call a lady those sorts of things. Razputin was forgivable, of course. He was just a child, who lacked a mother at that. Everyone else had no excuse for not treating the beautiful teacher like the proper lady that she was. At least he made an effort, although she acted as if it was insane that anyone would compliment her. Clearly she had been spending too much time abroad and not enough time at home.

And mind you, just the fact that she was from Brazil made her a lady. True, it was a far ways away from his beloved Mexico. But it was close, and the culture didn't recognize boundaries. They were as connected as two people could reasonably be, brought together by spicy hot cocoa, dancing and a somewhat odd taste in music. Milla Vodello was a bit understood by her peers. She loved bright colors, and flowers, and dancing, like any true woman would. Among the Psychonauts, however, her bright optimism seemed out of place. It was odd to see a smiling, caring, gentle lady in a sea of hardened Agents.

Ugh, Agent. He could never think of her that way. He knew she could more than hold her own in a fight, he just couldn't picture it in an Agent sort of way. He pictured a fighter that was more motherly protection than malice. She struck him as a truly loving person. The way she taught the children, speaking in a soft voice and smiling genuinely, it was clear she loved them. To put them in danger would be to cross a line. Somehow who could fly as high and as long as she could would neigh on impossible to escape. She was a protector of the children. A guardian angel, in other words. No Agent could ever hope to perform as well on duty as she did out of love. Agent was a sterile word for people like Sasha Nein who rambled about science and dove into people's minds. Milla Vodello was a name that denoted heritage and feminity. It suited her better.

She was such a kind woman. Even though Cruller commanded the kitchen, Milla would always pop up at breakfast with doughnuts for the kids and a churro for him. Ever since he had started working here, she had made him feel like part of the camp. She had suggested the idea, gotten it approved, and served as his guide to life outside the asylum. She knew it wasn't easy to be on the outside after all this time. Little treats seemed to make their way to him, especially on his rougher days. It was amazing how one cupcake, one smile, or one new pail of paint could brighten up his life. He didn't understand how these little things could mean so much to him, until Sasha Nein spelled it out for him.

"You're in love with Milla," the German stated coolly. Smiling a bit, to show he had no hard feelings, he added, "Wasn't it obvious?"

Well, it was in retrospect. She was so sure of herself and confident, the opposite of him. She was the boldness and artistic flair that could not be contained, just like him. Milla was everything he'd always wanted to be, popular, genuine, loving and well respected. He envied her for that, but he loved her because she wasn't anything other than herself. The concern for her students, the optimism, and the the passion were real. Milla was purely herself, all the time. She expressed herself constantly, in ways most people had forgotten how to. She was alive, vividly and truly. Agent Nein was right. Edgar was in love with her. How he hadn't seen it, he'd never know. Sasha put forward once the theory that people outside a relationship made better judgment calls on it. Maybe he was right there, as well.

He was afraid to tell her how he felt. Not that he feared rejection. He knew Milla would be kind and loving with that, as she always was. The fear stemmed from his fear that, even if she returned his feelings, he would turn her into a Lampita. He didn't want to create a new entity for his subconscious to worship. He didn't want some new character to obsess over. He wanted a real love, with a real person. Edgar had spent too long in his own mind to go back to the mental world now that he was free. He couldn't let that happen, so instead he let her inspire his paintings, which sold like hotcakes. He painted beautiful figures in Spanish towns, loving green eyes, floating women falling through the sky, and only smiled when asked what his inspiration was. No reporter could ever grasp the loveliness, even if he could put it into the right words to explain it. For years, people will marvel over his paintings, wondering where such things come from.

And the only clue is that the most beautiful pieces are dedicated to _Senorita Vodello_.


	84. MatadorKitty

Author's Note: Having skinned both my knees and part of one palm, I now present you with an epic update of epic proportions. Enjoy. Also, since I'm injured I invoke the right to put up pairings no one requested, out of sheer pain induced insanity. Anyone who questions why losing some skin equals insanity shall be shot because THAT MAKES TOTAL SENSE GODDAMMIT.

Seriously, though, I'm just trying to reach the point of 100 different pairings on this thing.

AND YES THE PART TWO OF VARIOUS PAIRINGS IS COMING. I usually don't update this fic for months, so if you have to wait, say, two weeks for a part two then I hardly feel as if I've let any of you down. Besides, I think we can all agree that being able to say our fandom has done 100 different pairings despite our tiny size would be fucking awesome. (As opposed to, say, the Harry Potter fandom, where that's hardly an accomplishment worth noting and is done on a daily basis on accident.)

Today shall be an epic day, my friends. Let us celebrate with crackfic.

-----------------------------------------

My name is Kitty Bubai.

But it used to be Katalina Bazquez.

It's been a long time since anyone's called me that. It's been a whole year, and what a shitty year it's been. I've only made one friend, and even though Franke's nice, it's hard not being able to speak Spanish to her. It's hard to watch my words for an accent all the time. I have to toss in Japanese to match my new name. I have to dress differently because the FBI says that wearing my old totally pink wardrobe might attract attention. Criminals can put two and two together. They'll figure it out if I slip up, so I can't let anybody in. I can't ever say the wrong thing or do the wrong thing. I have to be Kitty.

I like being Kitty, I guess. My new father in the Witness Protection Program really tries to be good to me. After his daughter died, he wanted a second chance to be good. He buys me everything I want and threatens to sue anyone who hurts me. It's silly, but I understand. That's how he's trying to show that he loves me, that he wants to protect me. If my real father could meet him, I'm sure he'd approve of this Japanese man who willing took in a stranger's child. My new mother is always nagging me to make sure I act normal. She's afraid of what might happen to me if I slip up. She doesn't want to have to bury another child. I wish I were better at being Kitty, so that she wouldn't have to worry. It's hard on her to not know whether or not I'm safe. The two of them tried for ten years before a successful pregnancy, and had three miscarriages after that before they got their baby girl. Now that she's dead, they just want another chance to raise children. I have a bunch of foster siblings who they adore and love and are trying to adopt.

Sometimes I wish I wasn't so in love with being Spanish. I wish that I could be more Japanese like Katami Bubai was. There are pictures of her that I'm not supposed to know about, hidden in the attic. She loved to wear kimono, was fluent in Japanese, and had lots and lots of books on Japan's history, culture, food, and customs. She loved her parents and their country as much as I love and miss living in New Mexico. I miss the Spanish-speaking towns where everyone knew everyone. I miss the food. I miss the music. I even miss my cousin Carlos' god-awful singing in Spanglish that I used to so despise. (If you know my cousin, this is an amazing, I thought hell would freeze over first kind of thing.) I don't want to be here where being bilingual is some kind of amazing accomplishment. I want to be able to have a freaking taco once in a while.

Every now and again, I break down. I run away, far away, to someplace where I'm totally alone, and I just explode. I speak to absolutely no one, not even myself, just talking to hear the Spanish roll off my tongue. I just can't take this sometimes. I don't want a walk in wardrobe bigger than my family's old house, I just want my family. I don't want anymore new clothes, I want the ugly sweater my grandma made me. I would give anything to have burnt, leftover churros instead of prime hamburger. So at camp I couldn't help but lose it, finally and truly lose it when Milla Vodello revealed she's not only fluent in Portugeuse and English, but Spanish too. I know it was Milla, but I just hear my mother, and I wasn't quite right for the rest of that day. Nothing took my mind off of home, not Franke or Raz or hiking or even swimming.

That last part is all I remember before I woke up here, in Heaven.

I can sense it's the Mental World, I just don't care. Senoritas with soft voices scoop me in as a bull runs by. They coo at me, afraid for me and unafraid to hide me. They squeal when they see I have a rose, asking who the boy is. I say I don't know, then continue on my way. This place is beautiful. It's nothing like home. It's better. I feel so much lighter here. A weight has lifted from my shoulders, and I can breathe again. Everywhere I go, I keep finding roses, leading me deeper and deeper into the most brightly colored world I've ever seen. Everyone speaks my language, music drifts by wherever I am, and the world seems right. I chase the roses until I can't find my way out, and secretly I don't want to. I want to stay here forever.

Eventually, I come to an apartment building. A pile of roses is there, and behind them stands a man dressed like a matador. Well, given that there's a giant bull running around and everyone speaks Spanish, he probably _is_ a matador. It would make as much sense as anything else. Realizing that I just ran into someone's house, I begin to back up, mumbling an apology. (I'm so lucky I didn't walk into the hands of a censor.) The matador, however, beckons me in.

"It's alright if you stay." He tells me in accented English. "It's awfully hot out there."

"Okay," I say softly. My voice hurts from all the talking I had to do as Kitty. It's nice to be able to quietly take a seat and watch someone for once. "My name is-"

"Katalina, I know," he says with a charming smile. "I know many things about you, Kitty."

My smile vanishes. "That's not my name."

"It is now."

Tears brew behind my eyes, hot and sharp. "It's NOT my name. I'm not some stupid girl who only cares about shoes and suing people!"

The matador looks unmoved by my rising voice. "You aren't, or you don't wish to be?"

_That_ struck home, and I began to sob. "Shut up. Shut up shut up shut up!" I shook my head, trying to lapse into Spanish at him to express how angry I was. I couldn't. Japanese slipped out instead. Covering my mouth with both hands, I looked over at him nervously. I didn't know those words. How...?

He sighed softly. "You have merged with psychic fragments of Katami. Kind of like how I'm part of a man who is now dead. Bits of souls get stuck behind. It's not something anyone wishes for or wants, it just happens. And people like us can sense each other. So I... I wanted to see if maybe both of you were in there. But I think it's mostly you, isn't it, Katalina?"

I nodded. "I've felt a little weird since her death, but I'm still me." Sighing, I added, "Not that that's much better."

The matador, who I guess used to be a person out in the real world, stepped closer. "Listen to me. I did not bring you here to berate you. I brought you here to help you. Senorita Katami would like you to know that she isn't mad at you for taking her identity. And she wants you to know that her father isn't encouragaing you to be shallow. He's in pain, you see, the kind of pain where a man looks at the past and sees everything he could have done. You have no idea what it's like for him to see so many places in his life where he failed."

"So what am I supposed to do?" I asked weakly. "I'm just a kid."

"Live your life," he instructed firmly. "Buy clothes, go out with friends, hug your father, do all the things he wishes his daughter were doing right now. Fight down the pieces of Katami left behind, and be yourself. If you do not, you'll get your very own El Odeo you'll have to deal with soon. That is not the life your parents and Katami's parents want for you, or the life my own parents wanted for me."

He's not meeting my eyes now. Sitting down on the bed, he looks out the window. It strikes me that he's a person inside a person. Trapped. Suddenly I want to know more, to help him, to make him feel better like he helped me. His expression is far away as I move to sit down next to him. For a while, we're both quiet. In spite of his arrogant, sneering voice, I can tell that he's not just a mental image. He's as real as I am, just not as free. He's got a lifetime of being a matador ahead of him. At least I still have a future. I wish I knew what to say to help him. At some point, I let my head rest against his shoulder. He's warm like a person. This all seems like the realest dream I've ever had.

"I guess I deserve this," he mutters at last, taking my hand, "But you don't. You're a much better person than I am. Prettier, of course, and also psychic." He pecks the top of my head affectionately, making me blush. "Still, you should wake up now. They're getting rather worried." Then everything whirled into blackness, like I was falling.

I wake up being shaken by Ford Cruller. He keeps calling my name. And it IS my name, now. I may not want to be here, but I'm still here so I'm still Kitty. I can't live in the past and I can't live Katami's life. I can't keep pining for how things used to be, or wish I was someone else. I don't want to be trapped in some mind where it's always dark and neon-filled, where every day is the same. I want to have a career, a boyfriend, a husband, kids, missions. I'm not some dead inside little twip, I'm Kitty freakin' Bubai, and I'm alive. The hand the matador held feels cold as I sit up, pressing it to my cheek.

I'm Kitty, I'm alive, and I think I'm gonna be okay.


	85. RazElton

Sometimes Raz wonders if he'll ever get through to him.

He's rescued the lovable oaf from Laboto. Laboto, I-wish-to-poke-your-brain Laboto. The madman. The scariest thing at this camp, even surpassing Oleander's oddities in terms of nightmare fuel. There was no telling what Laboto would've done to their brains in the time between the tanks being built and their extraction. He could have done anything - the term 'mind rape' comes to mind - and Raz is proud he prevented that. And it's not that he doesn't understand everyone checking up on their friends afterwards. He does. But he would've liked some kind of thanks, a pat on the back or a smile or something.

Especially from _him_.

Raz still isn't sure why that Elton's refusal to speak to him hurts so much. All he knows is that it's maddening. Ever since he tried out his clairvoyance, and saw what Elton thought of him, he's felt hurt. It shouldn't matter. It's just one kid out of the entire camp. Raz just can't stop thinking about him, because dammit, he isn't here to steal Lili away. He isn't here for romance at all. He's here to be a Psychonaut, to finally start making a difference and being appreciated instead of hated. His whole life has been spent struggling to get some respect. Elton, with telepathy, the lowliest and least respected of all powers, should understand that. Yet everyone here is convinced life revolves around making out.

Well, screw that. Raz will have plenty of time to make out with people when he's a Psychonaut and he's earned it. When he travels the globe and meets all kinds of brilliant minds, then he'll make out with them. Right now is not the time for romance. Maybe when this whole debacle is over, and everyone's got their brains in their heads, he'll have time to relax. At the moment he's got a world to save. Why he's even taking time to think about Elton and his stupid paranoia issues, he has no idea. He's running around a freaking asylum; there are more pressing issues right now than whether or not Elton likes him or who makes out with who. Maybe he's finally losing it. Climbing a decaying building filled with madmen and exploding rats hasn't done anything good for his sanity.

What does he care if he can't get through to Elton? Just one more person who thinks all Gypsies are after their women. Typical. Raz wishes he wasn't getting used to that, but he is. Everyone always hates two groups: circus freaks and Gypsies. Raz is the offspring of both, and people will never really get used to that idea. He's always the outsider, even here. Even in a group of psychics. He thought that Elton, being the least respected and least wanted person here, would be his friend. Apparently, Raz really needs to stop believing the best in people. He rescued Elton from Laboto, but it didn't matter because it was Raz doing it. God, he wants to shake the moron sometimes, just grab him by the shoulders and yell at him until he gets it. He just wants the idiot to understand that he cares about him, he respects him, he _likes_ him...

Raz froze mid-climb. Likes... hoshit, that came out wrong. He's glad no one else heard that slip up. He doesn't LIKE like him. Does he? Raz has been a bit busy fighting for free thought and basic human rights as we know it, so he hasn't had the opportunity some of the others have had to make out with everyone. He's never really thought about dating before, to be honest. Come to think of it, ultimately he doesn't even know if he's straight or not. Talking lungfish and telekinetic bears have kept him a little preoccupied. Not that he's doing a lot better currently, but while he has a break in this, he has to wonder what exactly he is. He's ten, he's not supposed to be making out with anyone. Or at least, normal kids weren't supposed to at age ten. Psychics had sped up development. So maybe he wasn't straight now. Dammit, now is NOT the time!

Yeah, he told himself, resuming his run through the asylum, now wasn't the time. He would go and save Lili, because he was a Psychonaut. They would kick ass, because they were psychics. Agents Vodello and Nein would help them figure out how to end this. Then tomorrow, when the dust cleared and everything was sane again, he'd go make out with Elton. Shit, no! What he MEANT to think was that he'd go figure out if he wanted to make out with Elton. Yeah, that was it. Why was he even thinking about this? He had a camp to save! Pushing the mental image of the two of them kissing out of his head, thankful no one could see him going red, he focused on the mission. That was all that mattered. The mission.

Back by the lakeside, Elton lowered his hands, telepathic meddling done, and ran off, giggling at his soon-to-be boyfriend.


	86. BobbyLaboto

I hate you so much.

You're so sick. You're so twisted. Everything is you is so, so wrong. Each word that comes out of your mouth makes me more convinced that you're completely mad. Everything you talk about makes no sense. I should hate you. I mean, I **do** hate you. That's what I mean. Yeah, you suck. A lot. You're a monster.

But you're also pathetic, you know that, Laboto? You're so random and stuff, like you don't know what to say. Like you've been so long without talking to people you're just talking 'cause you can. It's so sad, pathetic, really. How long has it been since you've had a friend? Did you ever have one? Maybe you were a loser before you came here. Maybe you were some lonely kid everybody picked on, so now you won't shut up in front of people to make up for it. Or something. You're loony.

You're all alone, huh? No one here likes you. Not that chick with the shrieking voice or her turtle. You're all alone. No one even talks to you. You're like a pariah or somethin'. That's okay, though. I mean, who needs people. They just get in the way. They always say it's wrong to do stuff you think is fun and then yell at you or hit you. Or at least, that's how my life was, anyways. 'Specially with my mom. She hit me a lot.

What? Why are you staring at me? It's not like she's abusive or anything. She loves me! I just screw up. S'no big deal, really.

L-Laboto? What are you-?

…

Did you just… Oh my God. We just – I just – with a guy! You kissed me! You **kissed** me, you sick son of a bitch! I'm not some pitiful little kid who needs to be snuggled! That's so stupid! You're stupid! And it doesn't matter anyway! Who cares if my mom hits me and you love me, you're both stupid and reckless. One day I'm gonna be a Psychonaut, and no one will even remember you! Then everyone will love me, you'll see! I don't need you! I don't need anyone!

…

…

Laboto?

Could you kiss me again?

…

Mmmm.

I still hate you, you know.


End file.
